Assorted Tumblr fics
by seven dragons
Summary: This is a collection of drabbles and ficlets I have posted to Tumblr but never published here. Most of them are from the drabble writing challenge or my "1am Drabble" series. They tend to be short, quickly written, and barely edited. Some of the very short ones are combined into single chapters.
1. Scars

Standing before her, Lucien very hesitantly unbuttoned his shirt. Jean was surprised at this. Everything that had happened to them in the last few months was leading up to this moment. Now, in his own bedroom he seemed nervous. When he did take his shirt off she saw why. He was covered in scars. His upper arms, shoulders, and something that looked suspiciously like a stab wound on his chest. His back was the worst of all, heavily streaked with the marks of endless beatings. The scars continued down below his belt line. Jean suppressed a gasp. Whatever she imagined he had been through during the war was not anywhere near as bad as whatever actually happened, and what she imagined was terrible. Jean understood now why he always wore a suit, in all weather and circumstances. Lucien looked embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Jean did not respond. Instead she walked behind him and placed a hand gently on his arm. Rising up on her tiptoes, she kissed a scar that started at the top of his shoulder and traced the scar down his back, keeping her lips pressed against his skin. When she was done she moved on to the next one. Lucien braced himself on the edge of a dresser and made no move to stop her. The trembling that began under her lips grew stronger until he began to sob. Jean vowed to herself that she would kiss every single scar on his body, even if it took all night. It did.


	2. Three LucienJean ficlets

**One**

Lucien sat on the edge of his desk. Jean stood in front of him, sponging blood off a gash above his eye.

"It's disgraceful, Lucien. A man of your standing getting into fight, in a bar no less."

Lucien clenched his jaw. "He made a threat."

"Really? And you're not man enough to ignore an idle threat from some drunk in a bar?"

"He threatened to harm you."

Jean stopped what she was doing and stared at him. Lucien dropped his gaze and looked at the floor. Unconsciously he lifted a hand toward the wound on his head.

"Don't do that," Jean said softly. She reached up and took his hand, bringing it to her lips instead.

* * *

 **Two**

Jean cleaned up the last of the dishes as Lucien stood at the kitchen table scanning the headlines of the morning's paper.

"Lucien before I forget, I have a doctor's appointment this morning, lunch may be a little late."

"A doctor's appointment?" Lucien sounded surprised. "I thought I was your doctor."

"No, you're my," Jean gestured in his general direction, "Something else. Dr. King is my doctor. It's just a routine check-up."

"Well, I could handle any tests and do the check-up for you."

"Thank you Lucien but Dr. King has been my doctor for twenty years and I am quite happy with the way things are."

Lucien sounded affronted. "You don't trust my medical knowledge?"

Jean gave him a cold look. "It's not your medical knowledge I don't trust."

With one last pointed look, Jean turned and left the room. Gazing after her, Lucien's eyes fell to admire just how appealing she looked in that fitted skirt as she walked away.

Lucien shouted so she could hear him in the next room, "I see your point!"

* * *

 **Three: An Empty Room**

Lucien and Jean sat together in the living room in companionable silence. Lucien sat on the couch thumbing through a newspaper. Jean was in a nearby chair, knitting. After a few minutes, Jean picked up her handiwork and placed it back into her sewing basket.

"I think I'm going to head to bed early. Good night, Lucien."

Absorbed in a story, Lucien barely glanced up. "Good night, Jean."

A few minutes later Lucien rolled his eyes and dropped the newspaper. He had almost forgotten. He had run into one of the ladies in Jean's sewing circle. She had asked him to tell her that the meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning had been cancelled. He needed to tell her before she went to sleep.

Lucien trotted up the stairs to Jean's room. A light was on and the door was ajar. He gave a cursory knock and walked in, but no one was there. He glanced down the hall into the bathroom. It was empty. He stood in the middle of Jean's bedroom, baffled. He called her name, wondering if she was somehow hiding in some corner that he couldn't see but got no response. He wondered how she could have gone to bed and then disappeared. She definitely left the sitting room.

Suddenly, a thought hit him like a bolt of lightning. His eyes grew wide. Then, without a second thought, he turned on his heels and ran towards his bedroom at full speed.


	3. Epilogue to Overlooked

_This is an epilogue to my story Overlooked. This story takes place 2 years later._

* * *

Matthew Lawson sat slumped in a leather chair next to Lucien Blake in his study. It was past midnight, and they were well into their second bottle of whiskey. Matthew's eyes were bloodshot and even Lucien was starting to look a little unsteady. Lucien poured them another round.

"So you've decided?"

Matthew sighed. "I think so."

"Good for you."

"I don't know. She'd have to move in."

"That usually goes with marriage."

"She'll want to redecorate."

"So?"

"Have you seen her apartment? It's lacy. And blue."

"That doesn't sound too bad."

"The bedroom is pink."

Lucien did a double take. Matthew shrugged and tried to look innocent. Lucien grinned like a school boy who was told a naughty joke.

Matthew looked down at his drink. "I suppose I'm a sentimental old fool for thinking about it."

"Matthew, how long have we know each other?"

"Five, six years maybe, not counting as kids."

"Five, six years. And I never saw you smile until you started spending time with Alice."

"That's because you're disagreeable."

They both started to laugh. Anything was funny at this late hour. Lucien topped off their glasses.

"Honestly Matthew, I think marriage is a great thing."

"You're a bit more domestic than I am."

"I think Jean would argue otherwise." He glanced down at his own gold wedding band and smiled. "Besides, Alice loves you."

"Does she now?"

"Do you remember when the fair came through town last year, and we all went?"

"Sure."

"The picture that Rose took of the two of you, it's on her desk in the back office of the morgue."

"Alice keeps a picture of me…in the morgue."

Lucien grinned and was clearly trying not to break into laughter. He took a gulp of whiskey instead.

"I'll tell you what. Invite me to the wedding and I'll buy you a shiny white walking stick just for the occasion."

Matthew glared. "I'll break out all your teeth with it. Just for that I might not invite you to be my best man."

Lucien pointed at him, though he was having trouble keeping his hand steady. "See? You haven't even asked her and you're planning the wedding already."

Lucien suddenly looked serious and leaned towards him. "Do you know when you are going to ask her?"

Matthew downed the rest of his drink and set it down. "Now." He started to get up, but Lucien jumped up first and put a hand on his shoulder.

"That's a bad idea. It's the middle of the night and we've both had a lot to drink. You can't propose to her if you're slurring your words."

"Right."

"The only place you're going tonight is my couch. But first," Lucien picked up what was left of the second bottle. "Let's have another drink."


	4. Hearts and Flowers (2)

Lucien stood behind Jean with his arm around her waist, pulling her tightly against him. His lips were moving slowly and steadily down Jean's neck. Seeking more skin to kiss, he reached up with his spare hand and undid the top button of her blouse. As Jean steadied herself against a work bench, he buried his face in her shoulder. Lucien had come into the sun room with honest intentions, a friendly chat and to see if she wanted some tea. The sight of Jean bent over arranging some flower pots gave him other ideas. Making sure not to startle her, Lucien had wrapped his arms around her shoulders and given her a kiss on the cheek, not expecting anything more. Then a few words whispered into her ear, mindless pleasantries, but when he did so he let his lips brush against her earlobe. Instead of whipping around and giving him the slap he deserved she gasped, grabbing onto his arm. Instinctively she moved her head away from him, exposing her neck and creating a target Lucien found irresistible. Now, trembling slightly under his lips, Jean seemed to be holding on to the work bench for dear life, while Lucien was holding on to her.

"Come to bed with me," his lips brushed over her ear as he said it. He expected that his plea would put an end to things, but Jean was breathing hard now. He started his way back toward her collarbone.

"Come to my bedroom," he repeated. "Please." Out of the corner of her eye Lucien could see Jean open her mouth to speak, twice, but each time she said nothing.

"I'll stop," he murmured, in between kisses. Jean didn't respond. He was well aware that the free hand that had been caressing her cheek was now gently covering her mouth. He thought to himself that he would respect her wishes, but he didn't have to make it easy for her.

"Tell me to stop." He rubbed his fingers across her lips. When he felt her mouth moving over his hand he thought he'd finally pushed his luck. Instead of a shout or a bite, Jean took his index finger between her lips and ran her tongue across it. Lucien nearly lurched forward on top of her, and it took all his self control to remain standing.

Startled into loosening his grip, Jean took advantage and spun around to face him. Blouse loosened and hair disheveled, Jean was biting her lower lip, the way she did when she was worried and trying to hide it. Lucien thought he must have taken things too far, but the look in her eyes trapped him where he stood. It was only as she was pulling him towards her that Lucien realized that Jean had slipped her fingers under his waistband. He wasn't sure if Jean had realized it either, but he started to suspect it wasn't worry she was trying to suppress. The last coherent thought Lucien had as his mouth closed over hers was that they were not going to make it to his bedroom.


	5. Some very small 1am ficlets

**One**

Blake: You know I quit smoking for you.

Jean: I endured shattered dreams with the return of your wife, stayed by your side throughout, fought to clear your name when you were arrested, fought to free your wife when she was arrested even though it was not in my best interest, and now continue to live with you even though we have no hope of a future together and the whole town views me as the village home wrecker.

Blake: You win. But quitting smoking was really hard

* * *

 **Two**

Jean could name all the cities in Australia she had never visited by heart. And all the countries. And their capitols. Which is to say she could name every major city on a map of the world. She had never visited them, and she missed them all.

* * *

 **Three**

Munro: I am not a disgrace! I am vengeance! I am the night!

Charlie: Sir, it's just a pickpocket. Can't we just book him and send him on his way?

Munro: I AM THE NIGHT!

* * *

 **Four: Precision Instruments**

Alice and Dr. Blake closely examined the still-warm remains. Alice sighed.

"It's crudely done. Heavy muscle damage, marks on the bone, skin in tatters. What did you use, a bone saw?"

"Yes, it was available."

"I'd have used an osteotome. More control."

Blake sighed, "Well I don't have one of those in my bag."

"I suppose you could use a large scalpel for fine control, but it would take longer."

Jean had had enough. "For heaven's sake, it's just a chicken, and it's going to get cold if you two don't stop."

Lucien tried to suppress a smile. Alice sighed. "I apologize Jean, but all the same next time you'd better let me carve it."


	6. Chapter 6

Charlie sat in at the kitchen table drinking his tea. Normally mornings were busy in the Blake house but today he was alone. The sound of footsteps in the hallway caught his attention, followed by hushed voices.

"Good morning."

"Morning Jean!"

"I'm sorry, breakfast will be a little late. I overslept."

"That's quite alright. I'm not surprised really. I hope last night was acceptable."

"It was wonderful, thank you."

Charlie held his breath, straining to hear. He'd been suspicious of what they got up to after hours for a long time.

"Was it big enough?"

Jean seemed to brighten. "Oh yes! I was afraid it wouldn't be but it did just the trick."

Charlie felt his cheeks flushing. Maybe he aught not to be listening in. He was probably happier not knowing.

"Well there's more where that came from. On the chair in my surgery for starters," Lucien said proudly.

"Hmm that's tempting."

Charlie dropped his tea spoon. Suddenly he became aware the voices were getting closer. He looked around frantically for an escape route, but he was trapped. Jean smiled as she walked in the room.

"I doubt I'll need it though. But really, it was much warmer than just my quilt. Thanks for digging up that old blanket for me."

"Yes, those old wool army blankets are just the trick on a cold night. Let me know if you want me to find another."

Jean smiled. "One will be more than enough, but thank you."

Jean looked over at Charlie, a concerned look on her face.

"Charlie you look pale. Is everything all right?"


	7. Old Fashioned Romance

Lucien lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. He didn't initially notice a voice nearby until a hand gently placed on his chest brought him back to attention. He looked over and smiled at Jean, her light eyes peering at him in the dark.

"What are you so absorbed in? I thought that the case was over?"

Lucien turned over to face her.

"Oh it's not that. I was just thinking, do you know it's our five year anniversary?"

"We've only been married a year."

"The anniversary of our first date. It was five years ago this month."

Jean propped herself up on one elbow.

"We've never been on a date."

"What?"

Lucien looked affronted.

"What about the time you and I went to that revival meeting together, at that church after Bobby Lee was murdered?"

"You were interviewing a suspect. I just tagged along to keep you out of trouble."

"And the night we went to the Soldier's Hill Hotel?"

"What? We never!"

"Yes, remember I went to see Derek and you came with me."

"It was a murder investigation. You asked me to steal a key."

"We still went together."

"I snuck out the back. By the _bins_."

Lucien was too lost in memories now to notice the rising tone in Jean's voice. He propped himself up and leaned forward.

"What about the Begonia Festival?"

"The year you were a judge."

"Yes, see? We went to the awards ceremony together."

"You offered me a ride, that's all. No one ever told me it was a date. Besides a judge and a contestant could hardly go out, that would be a conflict of interest and entirely improper."

Lucien chuckled, "You're probably right."

After a moment's thought he poked a finger in the air as if he suddenly has an idea.

"The night Jacqueline Maddern came to town. I went the show with you!"

"Ugh!"

Jean rolled on to her back, slamming her head against the pillow.

"I was in the show Lucien, you didn't take me to it. And it doesn't count if your children are there. We have never been on a date."

Lucien sighed thoughtfully, "No I suppose not."

He rolled over towards Jean, nuzzling against her neck.

"Maybe it's time I took you out on the town, make up for lost time, eh?"

Jean tried and failed to suppress a smile.

"Well, if you insist."

They lay together in silence for a few minutes, content in each other's company. Eventually Lucien stirred, lifting his head so he could whisper in her ear.

"There was of course that time we drove half way to Bendigo to that farm when I was investigating the Carson murder. Remember the car broke down and we had to spend the night in that hay loft?"

Hovering over her, Lucien could feel the heat rise in Jean's cheeks. When she answered she sounded flustered.

"Yes, well, I suppose that does count as a date, technically speaking. But I think the less said about that the better."

With a breathless huff Jean rolled over and pulled the covers up to her chin.

"Now go to sleep, Lucien."

Lucien settled down next to her and pulled her close. He could not stop grinning.


	8. Three violent drabbles

**Stuck (100)**

I think this is how it works? Let me know if I'm doing it wrong.

Charlie stared in horror from out of the alley. Moments before he had been hit by two impacts, once when Lawson pushed him out of the way of the speeding car and then again as he hit the wall with crushing force. Now Lawson lie in the gutter bloody and screaming. Charlie jumped forward to help him only to slump back down as blinding pain shot through his torso. He was stuck. He should wait here for help. Another scream. Charlie lurched forward, tears streaming through the searing pain as he crawled towards Lawson. His hero would not die today.

* * *

 **Woman's Work (300)**

Jean rubbed her hand along her jawline where Hannam had clutched at her throat. Despite Lucien's best efforts to kiss away the bruises late into the night, they were still tender. It didn't matter, Jean considered them a badge of honor. Jean had not backed down even as Hannam held her at gunpoint. It was easy, protecting Lucien had become habit by now. She recalled the first time, clutching Christopher's service pistol with trembling hands, holding Hannam at bay. She barely knew Lucien then, she only knew that she needed to keep her family safe. This happened more times than she could count. There was the time she argued with a rifle toting madman threatening Danny, and later that year rushing outside to confront an angry mob. They were looking for her son but it was the assault on the doctor's home, his sanctuary, that she had found offensive. Jean had never really considered herself as protecting Lucien. She was looking after her own safety and that of her family, home, and friends. It wasn't until she was rushing headlong with a spanner in hand at the Red Australia motor yard that Jean realized she had been keeping watch over Lucien all along. As she felt the metal crack against Hildebrande's skull and frantically tried to free Lucien from under the car Jean knew that she had always been protecting the man she loved. Jean reached into her night stand and pulled out Christopher's pistol. It was surprisingly light but with a long muzzle and uncomfortable grip, her fingers barely reached the trigger. She carefully set the gun back down and sighed as she closed the drawer. Her bruises would fade but her vigilance would not. She knew she would use the gun again. A woman's work was never done.

* * *

 **Christmas in July (100)**

Hobart surveyed the glorious sight before him. The cells were packed from last night's melee. Three men took a swing at him, two tried to flip his car, and Ned was in the hospital. None of the drongos would admit to it or turn on the others. Some sort of football brotherhood. Lawson was furious.

Hobart grinned from the end of the hallway and slowly rolled up his sleeves. He elbowed Charlie in the ribs, making him wince.

"The boss says we should make them talk. All of them, whatever it takes."

Hobart grinned.

"It's like Christmas in fucking July."


	9. It's a Secret (200)

Genevieve staggered down the street in the dead of night, weaving left and right. She nearly toppled over when a strong hand steadied her.

"Watch it sweetie, I promised Thomas I'd get you home in one piece."

Genevieve turned and smiled.

"Mon cher he'll be so grateful for that, and so am I. After that awful incident at the club tonight, I'm not sure I'm safe."

Genevieve grinned as if she found the idea of attracting such uninvited passion exciting.

"You leave Jock to me. He needs to learn to behave himself."

Genevieve threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

"Douglas my white knight, my protector. I can always depend on you to bring me home safe. I don't know what is wrong with those other men. They always want something from me. They want me! But not you, mon amie. I can always rely on you to do the right thing."

Doug looked into her eyes with a growing sense of alarm in his stomach. He swiftly stepped back, causing Genevieve to lurch forward.

"Oops!"

Doug caught her by the arm before she fell and set her walking in the right direction.

"We'd best get you home."


	10. Confession (100)

"They say confession is good for the soul."

Jean laughed nervously, "How would you know?"

"That's beside the point. You were going through my things."

"I always put your laundry away."

Jean knew she was on weak ground. Lucien leaned forward, trapping Jean against his bedroom wall.

"Alright! I was putting away your shorts, my hand brushed against it. I was curious."

Lucien traced his fingers gently over Jean's hand still clutching the object. Jean could feel her pulse quicken as her nipples constricted against his chest. His voice was low against her ear.

"Would you like to find out?"


	11. Four drabbles

**A Night to Remember (50) - 1**

"Ladies, I need you to change and leave so the Superintendent and the Doctor can examine this room."

A while later, Susan peered back into the room.

"Jean I thought you were dressed."

Jean smoothed down her robe.

"It ripped, this will have to do for now."

Jean laughed nervously.

* * *

 **A Night to Remember (50) - 2**

That white robe looks soft, it must feel good. She looks elegant in those earrings. Is she wearing anything underneath? Focus, major. Look at anything but her. Examine the table, the sandwich, look busy. Do something funny so she'll notice you. Bugger. That didn't go as well as I'd hoped.

* * *

 **Anticipation (100)**

First it had been rumors. A gambling confession in an interview room. Rough Men lurking about the station looking for Carlyle. The brass weren't happy. Then one day he was gone. Charlie received a phone call from Melbourne. Frank took early (very early) retirement, he was the senior officer. Now they just waited, every day, for something to happen. It must happen soon. Everyone was a nervous mess. Charlie paced back and forth behind his desk, Bill barked at anyone who came near, even Ned was on edge. A familiar voice cleared his threat. Charlie looked up towards the door.

* * *

 **Phone (200)**

"Our mortal enemy" Jean used to call it, only half joking. Every stolen moment Lucien had with Jean seemed to be interrupted by the phone. Between murder cases, patients, friends, family, and church obligations, there was no end to the ringing. Jean said it was the sign of a full life however Lucien still cursed it. But not now. Lucien's wife lay asleep in his bed. His love lay awake in the room just above him. He could hear every toss of the bed, every stifled sob. Lucien sat alone in his study, his thoughts undimmed despite a whole bottle of whiskey. Everything he had ever wanted had somehow turned to ash, his hope for the future was gone. He had so many questions and no answers. He wanted to wake up and find this was all a terrible nightmare but first sleep had to come and he knew it would never come again. So he hoped desperately for a distraction. The piecing ring that would bring a case, a medical emergency, something to force him out of this nightmare and back into the real world, the world where Jean was still in his arms. But the phone stayed silent.


	12. Prequel (200): The Brothers Drury

_1908_

Cec leaned against a tree and pulled out a wad of cash. It was amazing how fast these diggers went from broke to rich when you threatened to cut their balls off. More amazing still was that they kept coming back. He wandered through the mining camps and lingered on the edge of the sly-grog shop or a two-up game. Sooner or later someone always ran out of cash and needed a loan.

"Cec. Cec!"

Cec rolled his eyes and stuffed the cash back in his coat. He pulled out a pouch of tobacco and started filling a paper. The boy ran over to him.

"Where did you get all that money?"

"What money?"

"I saw it!"

Cec rolled his eyes.

"Get out of here kid."

Rod kicked the dirt.

"I'll bet you stole it. I'm gonna tell dad!"

Cec placed the cigarette to his lips.

"Then tell him."

"You don't gotta be no good Cec. Dad says you can work for him at the club. Why don't you let him give you a proper job?"

Cec regarded his younger brother.

"And work myself into an early grave, serving booze to tofs for no money? I'd rather die."


	13. Bathroom (300)

_Ballarat 1906_

Harry spread his pale hands over the fine mahogany desk, staring at the plans before him. This would be his finest work yet. He cringed as the door to his office slammed open, interrupting his reverie.

"Uncle Stanley…er, Mr. Morse."

Mr. Morse stalked over to the desk, pulling on his waistcoat in agitation.

"Harry, I promised your father I would give you a chance. He said you were a creative genius, and clever too. Educated in London, he said. Honored by your peers."

"Yes, Sir."

"I always try to do good by my relations but enough is enough! That name outside this building. Stanley Morse. It stands for pride. It stands for quality!"

"And I always try to honor that sir."

"Do you now? What about this new house on Mycroft Avenue you've been working on? It's all but finished. We've spent hundreds on materials."

"Yes sir! I am quite proud of it. The master builder said he'd never seen anything like it."

"Did you ever think to ask him why?"

Harry shook his head. Mr. Morse took a deep breath, trying to control his temper.

"Harry, Ballarat's finest citizens, its elite, put their trust in us. They expect the homes we design to stylish. Fine workmanship, with every modern convenience."

Harry nodded eagerly to each point.

"Yes sir. And I gave it all that. Tudor Revival to stand out but in a dignified way. A home office any gentleman would envy. A large kitchen with plenty of room for servants upstairs. I dare say any man would be happy there."

Mr. Morse's face turned red, then purple. Harry's eyes widened with fear as Mr. Morse reached over the desk and pulled him up by the collar until they were eye to eye.

"It. Has. No. Bathrooms!"


	14. Three 100 word drabbles (S5E2)

**Note: Inspired by photos posted by yourjodeanfaceblog on tumblr.**

* * *

Jean unwrapped the delicate garment and held it out in front of her. Pale chiffon, so transparent it made Jean blush. She bought it on a whim a few weeks ago along with some expensive lipstick and perfume. "For my wedding night," Jean told herself, ignoring the voice in her head that pointed out she had no wedding date. Now as she regarded herself in the mirror Jean realized that she always knew it wasn't for her wedding night. It was time. They had been apart too long. Glancing carefully out her bedroom door, she padded barefoot down the hallway.

* * *

Lucien paced back and forth in his bedroom. The kiss in the kitchen had unnerved him. It was not his own loss of control that surprised him, it was watching Jean come undone and then pull away. They could not continue like this much longer. Lucien had half undressed but could not bring himself to settle down. He must go to her. He didn't care why; even if all he got was a slap in the face at least the issue would be settled. Taking a deep breath, he strode out into the hallway, coming to a sudden halt.

"Jean?"

* * *

Jean is frozen in place, mortified. Lucien is staring at her, eyes wide. He is breathing heavily and Jean wonders if he is unwell.

"Jean, I..."

Jean stares at the floor, her voice barely a whisper.

"I wanted to see you."

"I was coming to speak to you."

They stand in silence for what feels like an eternity. Jean glances up slightly, noticing his state of undress, and wonders if they had the same intentions. She remembers why they are here and manages a shy smile. Lucien reaches out and takes her hand. Slowly, he leads her into his bedroom.


	15. Broken Promises (S5E3) (200)

Jean slowly perused the aisles of the charity shop. Linens, candlesticks, all manner of tat, the remnants of other people's live. The shopkeeper watched her, concerned. This was the third visit this month. Jean smiled as she found what she was looking for. At the end of a row of flatware and used china was a section marked "Damaged, 10d ea." Jean took as many plates as she could carry and brought them to the front of the store. The shopkeeper kept her eyes down as she rang them up, finally leaning across the counter.

"Mrs. Beazely, I know it's none of my business, but if you need any help my church has a fund..."

"Oh, heavens no!"

Jean laughed nervously.

"Thank you but I'm fine. I really am. I just like to leave a few plates on top of the dishes in the cabinets and on the table, anywhere the Doctor might find them."

The shopkeeper looked shocked.

"Whatever for?"

There was a long silence as Jean stared off into the distance, unsure of what to say.

"It's a long story. Thank you! I'll see you next week!"

Jean scooped up her dishes and hurried out of the shop.


	16. Spoiled

_Based on a S5E8 prompt from Professortennament on tumblr._

* * *

The guests had headed home and the lodgers turned in for the night. It had been an exhausting but joyful day, preparing Christmas for so many. It was the first time in years she had done so. But now Jean lie awake, restless. in all the trials of the preceding weeks she had little time and energy to think of a proper gift for Lucien and in the end, desparate to find something suitable at the last minute she had settled on a tie. A tie. The sort of gift given to bored husbands by bored wives, not a fiancé in love. To add a sentimental twist she had given him a calendar with the wedding date but even that should not have been that much of a surprise, it was a date they had bounced back and forth between them several times. But it was his response that shocked her.

"Honestly Jean, you spoil me."

He then proclaimed the calendar to be the best present he'd ever received. Jean was baffled. How could so little mean so much to him? He was hardly of modest means. It occurred to her that maybe he was just being polite but it had sounded so heartfelt. Jean pondered this for a while, no closer to sleep, until she decided lying there was fruitless and got out of bed. Wrapping her robe tightly around her she headed downstairs in search of Lucien.

She found him in the study, staring peacefully into an empty fireplace. Hearing her enter he glanced over her shoulder.

"It's too warm for a fire at Christmas but it's fun to imagine it."

Jean laughed quietly. She moved around to the couch and settled next to him. He gladly held out his arm so she could rest her head on his shoulder.

"I thought you'd be in bed."

"No, couldn't sleep, oddly enough."

Lucien rested his check on her forehead.

"Well, stay here with me then."

Jean relaxed into him but the questions still swirled in her head. When she spoke, her voice seemed uncomfortably loud in the large, silent room.

"Lucien, when was the last time someone gave you a Christmas gift? Before you moved back here."

Lucien sat up, looking surprised.

"I don't know. Before the war I suppose. After I tried to keep things strictly business. To be perfectly honest it was just to painful. Without a family, why have Christmas? Why do you ask?"

"I don't know, just curious."

Lucien gave Jean a strange look and settled back down with her.

"I remember my father and mother had the same fight every year at Christmas. My mother, of course, wanted to get lots of gifts and my father always said she'd spoil me. That I would become soft. It was one of the few times he'd win out."

Jean looked up at him.

"That's sad."

"Not really, I hardly went without. Not with Agnes and Nell around."

Jean giggled. They sat together in companionable silence for a long while, Jean trying to clear her mind. Instead a memory from long past came to her unbidden. Weeks before she was married, walking down a garden lane with Christopher. A beautiful row of rose bushes lined the street. Jean cast Christopher a side glance.

"You know, I don't think you have ever brought me flowers."

"So?"

"All the other girls fella's do."

Christopher rolled his eyes.

"Jeannie we are going to have our own farm, you can plant all the flowers you like."

She did, and he would mention on occasion how it was a good thing he never brought any home.

Jean recalled the inexplicable glee she felt a few weeks ago when Lucien was standing in the sun room, proudly proffering that first bouquet, seemingly unaware that he was standing in a room made of flowers. She had been baffled but overjoyed and at the time didn't understand why. It had taken all her willpower to express the appropriate amount of gratitude and not jump up and down like a little girl.

In the studio, Jean laughed out loud. Lucien nearly jumped.

"Jean?"

"Oh," Jean felts her cheeks flush, "I was just thinking what a fine couple we make."

Lucien sighed happily and pulled her closer. He pressed his lips to her forehead.

"Merry Christmas, Jeannie."

"Merry Christmas, Lucien."

As Jean drifted to sleep in his arms, she started making a list of what she would get him next year.


	17. The Well Dressed Man

_Based on a telemovie prompt by itisbugs._

* * *

"You can't be serious."

Matthew Lawson stood in Melbourne's finest men's shop and stared at himself in dismay.

"This is a morning coat, Matthew. It's proper for the occasion."

"I don't care what time of day it is, Lucien, it's ridiculous. Who do you think you are, King George the Third?"

"I think it looks...classy."

"What's wrong with my uniform? I'm the Chief Superintendent!"

"You're what?"

"Don't give me that, Blake."

He glared at Blake, wearing a matching suit of gray trousers and tails, a top hat balanced in the crook of his arm.

"I look like an idiot and you look like a bloody butler. And police uniforms are standard at weddings."

Lucien put a hand on Matthew's shoulder.

"Matthew, it's just the two of us up there. We should match. Besides I can't have you in uniform, you'll look better than me."

Matthew puffed out his chest.

"Damn right. But really I think this is a bit much."

"I know Matthew but I want to look my best for Jean."

"Jean wants you to look like you haven't bought a suit since the 19th century?"

"What? No! I told you the morning suit is traditional."

Lucien gestured in Matthew's direction.

"And since when are you such a fashion expert? You own three shirts and they're all green."

"I still know a damn lot more than you."

The sound of a man awkwardly clearing his throat made them both turn around.

"Are you pleased with the suits?"

Lucien opened his mouth to answer and Matthew cut him off.

"Do you think we could try something a little more...modern? Something dark."

"Matthew..."

"Just humor me, will you? We can always put back on the other."

Matthew looked down at his sleeve in disdain. Lucien rolled his eyes dramatically and let out a huff.

"If you say so."

A few minutes later both men were standing in the mirror eyeing themselves approvingly. Lucien stood back to take a look at Matthew in his trim black suit and matching tie. A white handkerchief stuck rakishly out of the breast pocket. Matthew grinned at him.

"Well Matthew I think you may be onto something."

"See? You clean up nice. And I don't think you'll hear Jean complaining."

Lucien turned back towards the mirror and ran his hand down the lapels.

"No, she won't. What do you say, then?"

Matthew turned back towards the mirror.

"I say we take them. And Lucien..."

"Yes?"

"You know I wouldn't do this for anyone but you, right?"

Lucien put his arm around Mathew's shoulder.

"I know Matthew, I know."


	18. The Well Dressed Woman

_A companion piece for the previous chapter._

* * *

Jean sat at the kitchen table, lost in thought. Her maroon wedding suit sat on her lap. From the surgery she could hear Lucien and Rose debating a detail of evidence in Edward's murder. When Rose's bright voice came from over her should, she jumped.

"Rose! I didn't see you."

"I was just leaving I thought I'd say hi. Oooh admiring your new wedding dress?"

Jean looked down morosely and sighed.

"Yes. It's lovely."

Rose sat down slowly, a concerned look on her face.

"But...?"

"Oh, I don't know. I know I've been married before but everything was so rushed, I wore one of my Sunday church frocks. I thought this would be my chance for a proper wedding dress. But apparently, I am too old. Women of a certain age wear suits. Maroon suits."

"That's ridiculousl Jean."

Jean looked from the suit back to Rose and shrugged.

"It will be fine. It is a lovely dress."

Rose put her hand on Jean's.

"Not good enough. Thursday we are going back to Melbourne. I know just the place."

"But Thursday isn't my day off."

Rose shot Jean a withering look.

"You know what, I think your fiancé the Doctor will be ok with it. Thursday!"

A few days later they were standing in front of a trendy boutique in downtown Melbourne.

"Rose, this is a store for much younger women. I don't think it's for me."

"Trust me Jean, just walk in."

With a gentle push Jean stepped inside the boutique and Rose followed. An aristocratic middle aged women dressed in sapphire blue looked out over the shop like a countess overseeing her estate.

"May I help you?"

Jean faltered so Rose spoke instead.

"We're looking for a wedding dress. For her. A white one."

Jean looked up.

"Nothing too fancy. I mean fancy, but not too...young. I, er..."

The countess cut her off.

"My congratulations. I think I know just the thing."

She walked off with a gleam in her eye. A few minutes later Jean was standing in front of the mirror in an antique ivory lace and satin gown. Rose held her hand up to her mouth in joy. The countess smiled.

"If you don't like that I have many others we can try. But I must say it looks..."

"Perfect."

The countess smiled.

"Yes. It certainly does."

Jean turned to Rose.

"Thank you so much. I never would have found my dress without you."

"Happy to. It's your wedding Jean, you should have whatever dress you want. Now I just need to figure out what I am going to wear."

"You know, I happen to have a suit in your color."

Rose smiled.

"Yes. Yes, you do."


	19. Before (5x100)

Jean stands barefoot in the cool stream, a metal bucket between her and her mate Doris. They work briskly, ignoring the thorns that scratch their flesh, chatting as they go. Doris looks over to Jean and smiles.

"When I grow up I'm going to marry Bobby Parks."

"Eww he's twelve! That's so old!"

"So? He'll already be rich by the time we're married."

Jean giggles.

"I don't want to get married. I want to go to university in Europe."

Doris laughs.

"Girls don't do that Jean. No one does."

Jean looks down into the bucket of blackberries. She doesn't respond.

* * *

Jean sits slumped in the kitchen chair, her head in her hands. Christopher is pacing manically, his loud footfalls on the wood plank floor irritate her. Her breasts are painfully sore against her undergarments and they irritate her. Her tight dress irritates her. The warm, stale air of the farmhouse kitchen irritates her. Christopher is ranting, shouting, begging, asking questions to the air that no one can answer. He makes a lewd reference to farm animals and Jean can't take it anymore, she breaks down in tears. Christopher rushes to her, holds her. He promises he will make it right.

* * *

The zombie life. That's what Doris called it. You wake up, you try to scrape by, try to put food on the table and smile, hoping your children don't see that you are slowly dying inside. We must all set a good example and mind the homefront until the boys come home. Jean believes this. She will show her sons courage and duty. She will keep their farm until Christopher comes home, and then all will be right with the world. A somber looking soldier knocks on the door. He wordlessly holds out a telegram. Jean doesn't hear herself scream.

* * *

Jean stands in front of Christopher Jr. He looks so small in his baggy recruit's greens and she can barely hold back the tears.

"You don't have to go."

"Mum, I have to go somewhere."

"Yes but so far? Once I sell the farm I'll have money to help Jack when he comes home."

Jean sees him wince.

"Money for all of us. We can all stay together. It just won't be the farm."

"Save it for Jack. I'll be one less person for you to worry about."

Jack turns and boards the bus, calling over his shoulder.

"I'll write."

* * *

Jean sits alone in the kitchen and finds the silence unnerving. It has been a week since the hospital sent Thomas home and he grows weaker by the day. Jean wonders what comes next. She will be rootless again, forced to scrape by. Jean wonders how her life came to this. Lifting a tea cup to her lips, Jean realizes it has gone cold. Another thing not gone according to plan. A knock at the door startles her. A man with sandy hair and a close cropped beard stands there, looking as stunned as she feels.

"Hello. I'm Lucien Blake."


	20. Three romantic drabbles

**All the Living Things (200)**

"You know I think that's what I love most about you Jean. You love all the living things."

Jean jumped, startled. He had been leaning against the door to the sun room and she didn't notice him. Even after all these years he still liked to watch her garden, still considered it as one of Jean's eternal mysteries. She turned around and gave his wrinkled suit and dirty shirt a condescending look.

"And you love all the dead ones."

Lucien walked up behind her and slid his arms around her waist.

"Maybe that used to be true, a long time ago. But the living world is much more interesting to me now."

Lucien nuzzled the soft hair behind Jean's ear.

"It's softer."

He started kissed down the side of her neck.

"And sweeter."

Jean wrinkled her nose and turned around to face him.

"Well you're not. We are not getting carried away before dinner _again_. And you smell like a murder scene. Get those clothes off and go clean up."

Lucien grinned at the emphasis on 'again.' He stepped in to give Jean a peck on the cheek.

"Whatever you say, darling."

Jean smiled as she watched him walk away.

* * *

 **Patience (300) - Content warning: rated M**

She was trapped. Lucien had Jean pressed against the surgery wall, his hand up her skirt, slowly tracing the edge of her garter.

"Lucien, we can't."

"We are."

Lucien's hand slid up her thigh as he buried his face in her neck. He nuzzled her blouse at her neckline, exposing her collarbone. Jean arched her neck, leaning her head back against the wall.

"There are patients right outside that door. They'll hear us."

"You'll have to be quiet then."

Lucien's hand slipped into the waistband of Jean's knickers and she lurched, nearly knocking over the surgery scale. Lucien caught her and pressed in closer.

"Shhh. There are patients in the waiting room, you know."

Jean could feel Lucien grinning against her ear. She was aware of his erection pressing hard against her thigh but her mind was quickly growing blank. She tried to get control of herself.

"Lucien we need to stop. We can't do this here."

Lucien's fingers dropped lower between her thighs, sliding slowly over her clitoris and hovering just over her opening. Trembling, Jean let out a muffled moan against Lucien's shoulder and spread her legs a little further. Lucien's voice was a low growl in her ear.

"You know what I want from you Jean. I want to feel you get off. That's all I ask. Then we can get back to work. Can you do that for me, Jean?"

As he spoke his hand rubbed rough circles on her clitoris, working her over while the other supported her weight from behind. Jean was lost in sensation and she could feel an intense heat rapidly rising from inside, brought about by his strong fingers. All she could do was whimper her ascent while she clung to him for dear life. His patients would have to wait.

* * *

 **Sun Room (200)**

Jean ran her finger gently over the creamy white lobe. The petals lolled to a sensuous pink at the edges, with a hint of yellow at the center. Long twisting stems held several flowers each, nestled among waxy green leaves. Jean gasped softly.

"Do you like it?"

"Oh Lucien, it's beautiful. I've never even seen a bull orchid before. I can't imagine owning one."

"Well you do now. I feel awful about what happened in the theatre. I wanted you to have a grand birthday."

"That wasn't your fault. But you shouldn't have. Where did you even find it?"

"I have my sources."

Lucien sounded smug, but Jean was transfixed by the object in front of her.

"I'm not sure I can even keep it alive."

"I don't think there is any living thing you can't breathe life into."

Suddenly Jean's world expanded again and she was aware of the space around her. The smell of lush green plants, the yellow light of the setting sun as it filtered through the sun room, and her spine tingling as Lucien pressed in close behind her. When she raised her head her ear brushed against his lips.

"Happy birthday Jean," he whispered.


	21. Better Luck Next Time

**Author's note: This requires some explanation. It stems from a conversation based on a recent event where I was visiting relatives and when I went to bed I realized there was a glow-in-the-dark crucifix hanging on the wall. This incident was brought up in a tumblr comment to story #2 in the previous chapter (the smutty one). Just roll with it. :)**

* * *

It shouldn't have happened. Lucien couldn't believe his luck. When he asked Jean to accompany him while he worked on a case on the far side of Bendigo he did not intend the work to last late into the night. And when he found them two rooms in a dingy guest house on the edge of town he never dreamed she would sneak into his room. Now, half naked and caressing Jean's bare back he was gloriously happy. Lucien ran both hands over her bum, rolling Jean on top of him as she giggled with delight. That skirt would have to go next. Suddenly Jean froze in his arms. He could feel the tendons in her neck stiffen under his lips.

"Jeannie darling, everything all right?"

Jean looked up, her gaze fixed on the wall above the headboard.

"What on earth is that?"

Lucien glanced up. Unable to see he gently placed her back on the bed and sat up.

"Bloody hell."

A large crucifix on the wall, barely noticed when he first walked in the room, was glowing above their heads, illuminating the room with an eerie green light. The outline of Christ dying on the cross was clearly visible. Lucien ran his hand nervously through his hair.

"Well that's something new."

"How on earth is it glowing?"

"Some sort of radium phosphorescence would be my guess."

"Is that safe?"

"Probably not. Don't worry, one night won't hurt. I'll keep you safe."

Lucien pulled Jean back down onto the bed and into his arms. A few minutes later Jean was sitting up again. She pulled the sheet tight against her, trying to cover her bare chest. Lucien tugged ineffectively on her hand.

"I'm sorry Lucien. I want to, I really do. But this isn't a good idea."

"Well if the radiation bothers you that much I'll move the bed to the other side of the room. We can move it back in the morning."

"No it's not that. We're sinning before the eyes of God."

"Oh come now, we're going to be married soon. Surely a few weeks won't make a difference."

"I know that Lucien. But it's one thing to know that here…"

Jean took Lucien's hand and pressed it against her heart, making his eyes water.

"…but having God shine a spot light on you while you're sinning is another. It would be too…awful."

"Well if it's awful I'm not doing my job."

"Lucien! You know what I mean."

"Well if it bothers you that much I'll take it off the wall and throw him under the bed for the night."

"Lucien don't you dare!"

"Well, just don't think about it. We're all alone far from home, and I have the most beautiful woman in the world in my arms."

Lucien teased the sheet free from her hands and peppered kisses across the top of her chest. He smiled as he felt Jean sigh and lean into him. Slowly he ran his hand up her leg, curling the tips of his fingers around the hem of her stocking. Suddenly Jean let out a huff of exasperation. This time she rolled to the edge of the bed and stood up. Lucien stood with her.

"Jean!"

"I'm sorry Lucien, I just can't. Not with…him watching us. If that isn't a sign that this is wrong, I don't know what is."

Jean searched for her shirt and buttoned it up hastily, looking around wildly for the rest of her things.

"Besides, I remembered I have to attend mass before breakfast."

"Out here? How?"

"Well there must be a church around here somewhere!"

Jean pulled her jacket tightly around her, picked up her room key off the dresser, and stalked out of the room. Lucien stood for a moment, stunned, before glaring at the crucifix, whose greenish glow stared back.

"Well I hope you're proud of yourself."

Lucien removed the rest of his clothes before flopping back down on the bed. He would kill for a drink, but at this hour there was none to be had. It was probably for the best. Before he pulled up the covers he glanced back up at the dark outline, staring out mournfully in the darkness.

"Well, I guess it's just you and me tonight."


	22. A Charming Man

Jean noticed it shortly after he arrived. At first, Jean thought he was just getting a feel for the house and learning about the town. Then she thought he was being polite. But it seemed wherever Jean was in the house, Lucien was not far behind. Watching her work, sitting with her as she cooked, he even followed her out to the bloody bins once just to chat. At first Jean found it rather off-putting; it was bad enough she had to serve a rude, reckless man who might upend her life any minute but now she had to pretend to be happy about it, act like she wanted to spend time with him. But the more time she spent with him, the more bearable she found him. He could be quite charming, and seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say. He seemed to have a particular interest in her gardening and would often pass a whole afternoon just watching, asking questions that he clearly had not put much thought into just to be a part of the conversation. Jean wondered if he were lonely. But even after that wretched Joy McDonald showed up he still hung around. Observing, commenting, and on rare occasions even listening. Jean wondered if he ever thought that she might be lonely too.

Whatever charms he may be working inside the house were certainly not applied to the rest of town. The quiet misery that consumed him when he first came home had erupted into a full conflagration, ending in Jean retrieving him from jail after he had made a drunken spectacle of himself at City Hall. Jean had finally gathered the courage to speak her mind, she was too angry not to, about his endlessly self-absorbed behavior. He was not the only one who suffered during the war, and he needed to stop acting like the world owed him something on account of it. Jean certainly didn't.

Lucien did not appear to get the message. He spent the rest of the afternoon moping around the house and somehow ending up in the same room as her complaining of a hangover. Jean was unsympathetic. She dispensed brief advice on how to find his own hangover cures and otherwise avoided him. The next day was much of the same. Only now he decided to follow her into the surgery while she typed up patient notes. Just to add to the outrage he was lying down on the examination table just feet from her, like a lover in repose, as if this was the normal way and doctor and his receptionist passed their professional hours. She could feel him glancing over at her every few minutes, trying to observe if Jean were paying attention to him as he recounted his latest misadventure. She was, but Jean was not about to let him know that. The man was really insufferable. She wondered briefly if she might get Joy to come over and whisk him away so she could get some work done. His last sentence had her jumping up from the desk instead.

"He took a shot at you?"

"Yes."

"Well I imagine people are lining up for the chance."

Jean could not help trying to make her point. He winced and then grew quiet. As Jean stood over him he gave her a look that made her heart jump in her throat. His eyes teared up with regret and he let out a sigh, his voice growing quiet.

"Yes, well..."

Lucien tried to sit up but feel softly back on the pillow as the light from the window hit his eyes. He groaned in pain.

"Shhh. Here."

Before Jean realized what she was doing she was leaning over him, massaging his pained temples. He cut such a pathetic figure she couldn't help it. He sighed gratefully.

"Thank you Jean."

"It's not like I haven't looked after you in this state before."

"I know, and I'm grateful."

Lucien took her hand and pressed it to his heart.

"And I'm sorry."

Jean tried to come up with a sharp retort but was keenly aware of the dim room, of the slight rustle of his slacks against the side of her skirt as she stood pressed against his side, and the arresting look in his eyes that made her think he would be anything but remorseful for what might happen next. He slowly brought her hand to his lips and Jean shivered. She barely noticed that his other hand was at her waist, and that she was now hovering with her chest just inches from his, her free hand resting by his head for balance.

There really was nothing to be done for a charming man.


	23. Anzac Day (200)

No one noticed Lucien as the children carefully placed flags into the graves of those who had died so long ago. One thousand soldiers, or so they said. One thousand soldiers and exactly fifteen nurses. Lucien took a drink from his flask and winced as one of the children trampled over the grave of a soldier from Midway to get to their precious WW I heroes.

"They mean well."

Lucien looked over his shoulder to see Jean looking at him disapprovingly. This day of all days, Lucien did not see why the damned woman could not leave him in peace. He turned his back on her as strains of music started in the distance, the sounds of heartless politicians and vain fools acting like ANZAC day was something to celebrate. Bloody imbeciles. He took another drink.

"Lunch is ready."

"I assume you are still capable of eating without me."

Jean sat down beside him. A long time passed. Lucien sighed.

"You're right, I'm hungry, let's go home."

On the way out Lucien stopped at a grave marked "Calvary, Gang Toi, 1965." Lucien emptied the last of his flask over the fresh earth.

"Take it. You need it more than me."


	24. Daybreak

Jean opened her eyes and shifted slightly. Everything was pale: the air, the pillows, her hands, were all a muted shade of silver. The sun had not yet risen but the stars had dimmed as the first weak light of day crept into the sky and infiltrated her room through the window. A morning person and a farmer's wife, Jean was accustomed to springing from her bed and powering through the day without pause. She rarely stopped to notice the gray stillness of the early morning light, the calm, cool air, or the moment of peaceful nothingness before the day started. Or perhaps she had started each day at full speed on purpose, so that she did not have to witness these moments and the emptiness they incurred.

For a long while Jean watched Lucien breathing gently. His eye lashes fluttered slightly and Jean wondered if he was dreaming. She reached over and ran a hand over his smooth arm. Even in the chill of morning he was warm. Drowsing back to sleep herself, her hand came to rest on his chest where she idly ran her fingers through his chest hair. Lucien grumbled a little and rolled over in his sleep to face her. Lucien's arms wrapped around hers, clinging to her hand as if it were a favorite doll. Jean suppressed a giggle. She shuffled closer until her head was on the same pillow as his. It had become a habit of late. In the evening he would lie on the edge of her pillow as close to her as possible, and in the morning she often found her way to him. Now, she rested with her forehead just barely touching his, sharing the same warm breath. She stayed that way for a long time, acutely aware of the sound of his breath and the light becoming almost imperceptibly brighter with the passage of time, but brighter none the less. Eventually Lucien stirred, just enough to place a kiss on Jean's lips and repeat the action several times. With a long sigh he wrapped his arms around Jean and pulled her close. Jean rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes.

Outside this little universe Jean was aware of silence. No birds, no people, no phones, no cars. She knew that would change soon, the first rays of sunlight bringing the world in with it. But for now, that world was theirs.


	25. At the Movies (5 x 50)

It had not escaped him (though she would have said otherwise) that Jean had been withdrawn in the days following Roger's arrest. The one man he had seen as competition, Lucien had ironically handed over to the station with a heavy heart, well aware of the pain he was causing.

* * *

Lucien watched Jean take the trash out back. She seemed lost in thought, as she usually was these days. Lucien wandered casually over as if he always accompanied her to the bins. If Jean thought this strange she didn't say. Lucien cleared his threat so as not to startle her.

* * *

"Jean."

"Lucien. What are you doing out here?"

"So I was thinking, you never got to see the end of that movie, did you?"

"Vertigo? No."

"Well, if you're free this afternoon why don't we go? I haven't seen it either."

"After everything that has happened? I don't think so."

* * *

"Well wasn't there something else opening over the weekend? A musical I think. Georgia? Jimi?"

"Gigi."

"Right. It could be fun. I haven't been to the theatre in goodness knows how long."

Jean gave Lucien an appraising glance.

"Come with me. I'll even buy the popcorn, eh?"

Jean smiled.

"Alright."

* * *

Lucien sat huddled next to Jean in the crowded theatre. Leslie Caron and Louie Jourdan were exchanging piercing glances. Lucien leaned over to Jean.

"She's too young for him."

"Shh!"

Lucien looked over, startled. Jean was grinning. Lucien reached into the box of popcorn, brushing Jean's hand as he went.


	26. Chill (200)

Lucien sat on the edge of the bed, shivering in the summer's heat. He pulled the thin blanket off the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders. It was like this sometimes. Some nights it was nightmares, some nights it was dark thoughts, and some were like this: his body wracked with an incurable cold. He didn't understand why; of all the many terrible sensations Lucien felt as a prisoner of war, cold had never been one of them. Lucien looked at the clock on the night stand. It was 4 am. He choked back a sob but it was louder than he had intended. He was so very tired of living this way. Pulling the blanket tighter around him, he curled up into a ball on the bed. He would not sleep but he would try and weather the rest of the night as stoically as possible.

A few moments later his door creaked open and then gently shut. He was too lost in his own misery to investigate, even when the mattress dipped slightly beside him. A pair of warm arms encircled him, drawing off some of the chill. He didn't ask questions. He just closed his eyes.


	27. When Hades Met Pesephone (8x300)

"Are you enjoying your drink, Lieutenant?"

Derek turned and had to catch his breath before he responded. The young woman in front of him wore a blue satin cheongsam and was smiling at him. With brown eyes and long dark hair, she looked like she had stepped out of a Tang Yin painting. Derek could not recall a more striking woman.

"How do you know I'm a Lieutenant? I could be a Major, or even a Colonel."

"Your Mandarin isn't very good. You haven't been in Singapore long enough to get promoted."

"Well then perhaps I'm a Corporal."

"The enlisted men weren't invited."

Derek stared at her in wonder. He knew he aught to introduce himself but it seemed unnecessary. Mei Lin Chang had her father's wit and her mother's famed beauty. Li Wei Chang was a wealthy merchant who did a lot of business with the British naval base and its associated offices. Several times a year he hosted the British officers along with other community leaders for grand dinners at his home. Derek's commander had ordered all the young officers under his command to attend turned out in their best civilian formal wear. So here he was, taking refuge from Singapore's crowded streets inside Chang's stately town home. He had been dreading this evening, time wasted in frivolous conversation with insufferable politicians.

Derek realized he was staring. Summoning every shred of courage he possessed, he reached out and took Mei Lin's hand.

"Well it appears you are every bit as clever as you are beautiful. I'm Lieutenant Derek Alderton."

Derek gently kissed the back of her hand. Mei Lin blushed. She looked at the floor but cast a glance upward, obsidian eyes peering out through thick eyelashes.

Perhaps this would not be such a dreary evening after all.

* * *

Mei Lin could not spend long with the Lieutenant as she needed to attend to all the guests, but she kept finding him. A few minutes of conversation here, a kind comment there. Later in the evening she found him standing on the verandah, gazing at the lush Malay jungle encroaching on the edge of the city. The cries of merchants could be heard in the distance. Derek looked at Mei Lin and suddenly everything he despised about this wretched Oriental backwater was tolerable. They stood in silence together, watching the moon creep above the hills. Mei Lin was the first to speak.

"I hope you have been enjoying your evening."

"Yes. I could not ask for a more gracious host or a finer party."

She turned to him with a radiant smile.

"I like you Lieutenant Derek Alderton. You're very kind."

Derek held his breath. Did she mean what she said or was she being polite? Certainly she didn't have to keep seeking him out. Hostesses were not required to stand alone with their guests in the moonlight.

"Miss Chang, do you think your father would permit me to..."

"Bloody hell, Derek. Sorry I'm late."

Another British officer came running over, hastily buttoning his dinner jacket as he went. He was clean shaven except for a thin mustache and had blonde curls that even a regulation army haircut and a lot of hair gel could not fully tame.

"You would not believe what the old man dumped on me just before I knocked off. Said it must get done right now..."

The young man stopped talking mid sentence when he noticed Mei Lin watching him carefully. He paused for a long moment, seemingly lost for words. Finally he held out his hand.

"Forgive my rudeness. I'm Lieutenant Lucien Blake."

* * *

Derek could feel it. It was like the moment before lightning struck, when the air was still and unbearably warm. He sensed the electricity arcing towards its mark. Derek cleared his throat.

"Second Lieutenant Lucien Blake. I still outrank you."

Derek meant it as a joke but it sounded petty.

"So you do."

Lucien's eyes never left Mei Lin.

"But only until I complete my RAMC training, then they make me Captain and I'm going to make you salute me every day."

Derek tried to come up with a retort but it didn't matter. He was invisible. He watched as they spoke, in halting phrases at first, but soon the conversation was flowing like water. Eventually Derek made his excuses and left. He doubted if they noticed.

Derek and Lucien were as different as night and day but they got on well. Derek was an army man through and through, a firm believer in the rule of law and the glory of the British Empire. Blake was everything a soldier shouldn't be. He chafed at authority and had revolutionary tendencies, but he was clever and he made his superiors look good.

Handsome and charismatic, Lucien never lacked for female company and Derek was usually the beneficiary. Derek was reserved around girls, but Lucien could charm them into hanging around. Which was why it was so ironic that a dazzling woman like Mei Lin took a liking to him only to have Lucien snatch her away.

In the dim light of the barracks, Derek lie awake staring at the ceiling. He played the events of the night over and over in his head, trying to figure out what went wrong. It was nearly sunrise and Lucien and not returned to base. For the first time in his life, Derek despised him.

* * *

Derek lay tangled up with Mei Lin in a comfortable bed within one of the large flats reserved for officers and their families. He ran his hand slowly down her back and over her backside. She looked up and kissed his neck.

"Derek, you know we have to stop. The nanny almost caught us last time. If she does, it will spell disaster for both of us."

"She didn't catch us, you worry too much."

Derek knew he should be more careful, more concerned for both their reputations. He knew he should feel guilty for sleeping with his best friend's wife. He had failed on both accounts. Lucien had betrayed Derek twice over. First, in stealing away the women he loved. Then by all but abandoning her to pursue his military career. A rising star in the army, Captain Blake was always out of town on glamorous assignments while Derek was stuck at headquarters doing paperwork. In the meantime his neglected wife was home alone with their young child.

At first, Derek was just a friend, a sympathetic ear when the stresses of military life were too much, or when Mei Lin needed assurance because she had not heard from her husband in so long. But with Lucien absent for long periods of time, Mei Lin wanted companionship. She was eager for affection, and Derek was happy to provide it. Lucien loved the army and to him Mei Lin was just part of the spoils of war. Derek loved the woman herself. He would love her until the end of time.

"Derek, I mean it."

Mei Lin hovered over him, her long hair cascading onto his chest. Derek smiled.

"That's what you said the last time."

Derek wrapped his hands around Mei Lin's waist, pulling her on top of him.

* * *

This time Mei Lin meant it. Derek felt like his world was crumbling. He was consumed by the unfairness of it all. He was the one who was always cleaning up Blake's messes, and Mei Lin was no exception. How could she push him away? Derek needed answers, but the more he pushed the more distant she became. Derek started to follow her, around base, in town, even when she visited family. He stood in the street outside the flat and watched them through the bedroom window. He told himself he was protecting her. Derek wanted to be there if she needed him.

His vigilance was complicated by the typhoon rapidly strengthening as the war wore on. At first the British authorities were confident that Singapore was safe and they only had to maintain order. Then the messages started coming, the Japanese were marching down the Malay Peninsula. The Australian 8th Division was posted in the city and Derek was assigned to coordinate between intelligence between the infantry and local authorities.

One afternoon after an interminable meeting he stepped out for a smoke and his feet carried him to the Blake's flat. Lucien was still in the office. He kept his distance until Mei Lin came out and headed in the direction of the market. Derek trailed after her.

A wave of agitation swept through the city. He could hear it murmured in the streets but he paid it no mind. He watched in fascination as Mei Lin turned away from the market and hurried towards home, and was outraged when she brushed by him as if he were a stranger. He chased after her, wondering briefly if he aught to return to headquarters. As he continued his pursuit, the sound of gunfire echoed to the north. They were here.

* * *

In his darkest days, through starvation and torture, the bitter irony was never lost on him. Derek, who had always picked up Lucien's pieces, was now the piece that Blake was picking up. He kept Derek alive when he was stabbed by a Japanese bayonet. Carried him when he was too weak to stand. Nursed him back to heath after he was tortured. All Derek wanted was to die but Lucien wouldn't allow it. Derek was sure this was revenge for his betrayal. Lucien was going to keep him alive for as long as possible just so he could humiliate him. That is the lot of those who sleep with their best friend's wives.

Once, Derek wished that Lucien would drop dead. The next day he was gone. Derek searched the camp, eventually finding out that Lucien had been sent to the boxes, a horrific form of solitary confinement. Derek cried all night. He had lost his only lifeline, the only person in that dreadful place who showed him any compassion. When Lucien returned forty days later he was a different man. Weak, shaking, and scared of his own shadow. Now it was Derek's turn to care for him, and he did it gladly.

Throughout these dark days Derek thought constantly of Mei Lin. She gave him strength on dark nights. He often would hallucinate that she was there when he was being tortured, her gracious smile giving him life as she wrapped her arms around him. Lucien refused to speak of Mei Lin or his daughter. Derek wondered if he had stopped loving them, or if he ever loved them at all. Derek swore that if they somehow survived he would go find them. He would be the husband that Lucien never was. Together they would be a family.

* * *

Derek found her in Hong Kong. While Blake combed the continent for years, used every contact, every favor, in the end all it took Derek was a few phone calls. It never occurred to him that Mei Lin might still be alive but unknown to Lucien.

It was a chance encounter in Ballarat on army business that united the old friends. When they parted, Derek decided to look for Mei Lin out of a sense of nostalgia towards Blake. He did not expect to succeed.

Derek walked through the streets of the camp closely behind a government official. Rows of eerily familiar tin roof sheds lined dirt streets in well ordered squalor. They found Mei Lin down a narrow alley huddled with a few other women, stirring some thin broth over a small fire.

She stared at him a long while. Derek's heart caught in his throat. Afraid he might scare her, he spoke softly.

"Mei Lin."

"Lucien. My husband. Tell me he is alive."

Derek could feel the anger well up inside him. It was Derek who was there for her on those long nights when Lucien was away. It was Derek who traveled to the ends of the earth to rescue her. It was Derek who loved her. And all Mei Lin wanted was Lucien.

Furious, Derek pulled Mei Lin to her feet and kissed her. One of the other women cried out. Mei Lin didn't react. She only looked away. Her face told Derek that she was years beyond weeping but not beyond shame.

"Please, Derek. Take me to Lucien."

Derek stepped back.

"Please forgive me. Of course I will."

Derek wanted to burn the whole camp down as revenge for his rejection, but he knew uniting Lucien and Mei Lin was the right thing to do.

* * *

Derek once joked to Lucien that he never had time for good intentions. Never had this been more clear to him than now. He went searching for Mei Lin for Lucien's sake, he sought to bring her to Australia because she wished it. But the thought of losing her again wore on his mind at night. He thought of all the times that Lucien had failed her. In Singapore, in the camps, he couldn't even find her in Hong Kong. It seemed almost cruel to deliver her into the hands of such an ungrateful fool.

First, he stalled for time. There were Administrative strings to pull in Hong Kong and business stops in Europe. He realized she was powerless to object and likely didn't even know the wiser that she was being delayed at his will. A few more days here or there wouldn't hurt.

Derek thought he might use this time to win her over. At first Mei Lin was gracious, treating Derek like her knight in shining armor. But as he pressed his case she grew more insistent. He asked, then demanded to sleep with her and was rebuffed. Eventually her view of him soured. One night as he stood in her dark room she spat at him.

"You're not half the man that Lucien is. You're not my savior, I'm your prisoner."

Derek grew quiet. He understood in that moment that the only way to keep Mei Lin was to bind Lucien to him. If he came, she would follow. Derek smiled at her.

"Perhaps I am."

It was not recent events but his memories of those days in Singapore that echoed in his mind in his last weeks in Ballarat. When he climbed the stairs to the Ballarat observatory, her voice still echoed in his ears.


	28. Under the Tree (3000

"You're late."

"No I'm not, I said I'd be here for tea."

"I serve tea at 4. You know that."

"Fine, I'm late. I got caught up in the case. I got here as soon as I could. May I sit down now?"

Jean smiled and patted the ground beside her. She was sitting on a plaid wool blanket under a shady tree in the park downtown. Lucien settled down onto the ground beside her with a grunt.

"This looks lovely Jean. It's nice to get away from the station for a while."

"I thought it would be. I know I'll never get you home to eat in the middle of a case so I thought I'd better bring something to you."

They chatted amiably as they ate. Eventually Lucien reclined on the blanket, yawning.

"Don't get too comfortable Lucien, you know they will expect you back."

Lucien sat up and sighed. He could not recall a time when he felt more content. Suddenly he was overcome with a sense of familiarity. He had been here before, almost. He had investigated the murder of a foreign agent under a nearby tree. The tree where Jean put her arms around him with grave suspicion. The tree where he didn't kiss her all those months ago. Lucien looked at Jean sitting beside him. Her leg was touching his, almost.

"Jean."

"Hmm?"

"I made a mistake."

Jean looked concerned.

"It's not that bad. I neglected to do something a while ago and I aught to rectify it."

Lucien reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair out of Jean's face and tucked it behind her ear. Jean's eyes widened in surprise.

"Do you trust me, Jean? Actually don't answer that. Just move a little closer."

"What?"

"Lean in closer, please."

She did.


	29. Storm Warning (200)

In the end, Jean would say she saw it coming. She knew just days after they met that Lucien Blake was not the sort of man one became attached to. He was destined to live a short life. Nothing she encountered in the ensuing years changed that first assessment. He ran off into the night at all hours. He once burst into a state function and assaulted a police officer. He was beaten, bludgeoned, kicked, and stabbed all in the name of pursuing justice. Jean knew all these things were avoidable but had stopped telling him long ago. He would never be content with domestic life. He had a tendency towards suicidal heroism, a drive to see his end out in the world somewhere, pretending it was for the glory of others. Jean always expected to see the police on her doorstep someday. She imagined how it would play out…he ran into a burning building, he was gunned down by a thug, run over by an escaping suspect. So as she sat, impassive at the kitchen table listening to the Superintendent's stilted words: fight, bridge, fall, lost, hope; Jean didn't really need to hear them. She knew. She always knew.


	30. Alcohol Was Involved (100)

"In my defense, alcohol was involved."

"Yes, that was apparent."

Lucien lightly traced the outline of a darkening bruise.

"And they had it coming."

"I think flipping over a table was a bit much. Why on earth did you do that?"

"Because I hate them all. And it was there."

Lucien cupped Jean's face in his hand and looked into her eyes.

"Jean, I know the way they treated you was bad, but getting drunk and storming into the sewing circle meeting isn't going to help anything."

Jean sighed and pressed her cheek against Lucien's hand.

"I know. I know."


	31. Three Muses

Later, when Lucien would think back to that night at the Colonists' Club, he remembered it as the night he was visited by three muses. Three perfect visions of Jean that lead him on a journey towards his future.

First Thalia, goddess of comedy and idyllic poetry. When Jean marched on stage Lucien nearly burst out laughing. Adorned in a bed sheet draped to look vaguely Greek and a ridiculous blond wig that tilted dangerously to one side, she looked so hopeful that Lucien applauded louder than anyone just to hide his mirth. Later, when tragedy struck and Jean hovered near, Lucien had to turn his attention to Mattie to avoid breaking down at the sight of buttons from a winter coat he had discarded, affixed to his usually stern companion's shoulders.

Shortly thereafter he found Erato, muse of love poems. He followed Jean into a changing room to look for clues and the sight of her, sparkling earrings, swept up hair, thin robe clinging against her body, made his heart weep. If it wasn't for the damnable William Munro barking orders from the doorway he might have taken her in his arms then and there. Determined to impress her, he ended up making a fool of himself like some sort of love-struck school boy. She was not amused, but he carried the image of her soft in the dim light to bolster him for the rest of the evening.

He saw her again as Melpomene, beautiful singer of tragedy, sword in hand as she defended Lucien and her own son against Munro's threats. She was a wrathful goddess who would protect her children from the whole world and curse their enemies into eternity. It was in this way that Lucien loved her most. Strong, fearless, insensible to any consequence. He ached to shield her from the world and let her know she was safe, that she didn't have to fight alone any more.

On most murder cases he was consumed by the task at hand but that night had been different. Even as he was dragged from room to room gathering evidence and grilling suspects, his thoughts kept turning to Jean. He sought her out every chance he could. He wanted to see her, to touch her, to know that the terrible night had left her unscathed. He wanted an opportunity, just a few minutes, to speak to her alone. Lucien needed Jean to know that he saw her, that he was there and always would be.

Many months later these memories briefly alighted in his mind as he mumbled against Jean's skin...my muse, my goddess, my savior. When Jean thought back to that endless evening, all she remembered was that it was the night he kissed her for the first time.


	32. Put the kettle on (300)

The clock on the mantle chimed midnight. Jean sat on the couch in the dark, anxious, clutching her pink bathrobe. She wondered why she was there. What possible excuse did she have for waiting up? Each time Lucien went out with Joy he returned later at night. She aught to be in bed, minding her own business.

Jean knew it was only a matter of time. He was a man and Joy was an attractive woman. Jean held no claim on Lucien's time nor his heart. She told herself it was about his reputation, but in the cool dark of the sitting room that argument rang hollow. She just needed to know. Given the tangible proof, maybe she could accept the reality of his disinterest and move on.

Jean jolted awake at the sound of the front door. She jumped to her feet. Lucien headed straight for the sitting room, leaving Jean no escape.

"Jean! I thought you'd be in bed hours ago."

"No. I mean I was. I thought I left a light on. But it's fine. I didn't."

Jean winced. It was a pathetic excuse and even in the dark Jean could see that Lucien thought so too.

"Well, I'm off to bed. Again."

"Yes."

"Did you have a good evening?"

Lucien stepped forward.

"Well, dinner ended early, so I went to the club."

Jean tried to hide her relief.

"That's too bad. I'm sure it will be a better evening next time."

Lucien dropped his head.

"I think not."

"I see."

Jean tried to make out his expression, but his tone of voice told her everything. For a while they stood in the dark, alone with their thoughts.

"I'll put the kettle on."

"That would be lovely."

Avoiding his glance, Jean padded swiftly into the dark kitchen.


	33. The Wash Line

It was a fine Saturday in late spring. Lucien sat, as was his habit, in the white wicker lawn chair in the garden, soaking up the afternoon sun. He brought the sports section of the afternoon paper out though he often dozed off before he got around to reading it. Lulled by the gentle breeze and the whooshing sound of laundry on the wash line, Lucien was soon asleep.

He was brought our of his peaceful reverie but the sensation of something brushing across his brow. Sitting up, one of Jean's nylon stockings fell into his lap. He fingered it curiously for a moment before he realized what it was and how it got there. He glanced in the direction of the wash line. The wind was picking up. He headed towards the clothes line to put it back but another strong breeze blew a pair of lacy pink knickers off the line and square into his chest. He held the delicate garment in his hand. A thousand questions and ideas flew into his head at once but he forced them down. Clouds were gathering in the sky above. A storm was coming and it would be here soon. Another gust of wind sent half the wash scattering across the garden. If he didn't act quickly, Jean's personal affects would be all over the neighbors' yard.

Lucien tucked his newspaper under his arm and chased up the errant delicates as best he could, as the wind threatened to carry them all away and the rain threatened to do worse. He had chased up the last stocking and was turning for the house when he heard an astonished voice.

"Lucien!"

Jean stood by the wash line, wide-eyed with outrage. Lucien quickly took stock of the situation. His hands were full of slips and camisoles, now crumpled. The pink lace knickers were one of several pairs stuffed into his pockets. A brassiere was hung over his shoulder and a pair of stockings dangled merrily from his waist coat pocket.

"Jean! Right. I can explain..."

"I know men will be men Lucien but honestly I thought better of you."

Lucien tried to stammer a reply but could not think of a single thing to say. Shoving the handful of camisoles under his arm against his newspaper, he reached into his pocket and helpfully offered Jean a handful of lacy knickers, just as the first drops of rain began to fall. Jean grabbed the clothes from him and clutched them against her chest.

"The least you could have done is waited until you were inside the house. And alone!"

Jean grabbed the brassiere off of Lucien's shoulder, whirled around, and stared back into the house, leaving Lucien to trail hopelessly after her.


	34. Father Knows Best (5x100)

In the end there was no shouting as she'd expected, but there was no choice either.

"If you wanted to stay in school you should have thought of that before. Christopher's a good man and he will take care of you," Jean's father growled, "but as of now I am still your father and you'll do as I say. You're going to be a mum now. You need to worry about that, not some school for posh girls who can't cook."

Jean's hand instinctively went to her stomach.

"Yes, father."

Silently she went to her room to prepare for church.

* * *

"Christopher, do you really want to be tied down here? You'll inherit your dad's farm in a few years. Why don't you get a job in the city? We could move to Melbourne or even Sydney."

"Sydney? Are you kidding, Jean? You know what those people are like."

"Actually I don't. That's the point."

Jean shifted young Jack on her hip.

"How can I take care of you and the boys without land and a home? I am head of this family and I need to take care of us. This is where I belong. It's where we all belong."

* * *

Jean stared at the glassy-eyed old man across the table. His hand trembled as he lifted his teacup.

"I'm not getting any younger Jean. I can't keep the practice going forever. You should be prepared for the future."

"What about your son? Now that he is writing you…"

"That is hardly anything to be impressed with. He is off traipsing the globe doing god knows what."

"But if you told him…"

Dr. Blake cut Jean off with a wave of his hand.

"I'm his father and I know what's best for him. There's no place for Lucien in Ballarat."

* * *

"I'm sorry, Jean."

Father Emory's face was draped in shadow. Somehow even his office felt like a confessional.

"Church doctrine is very clear on the matter. And more than that, you need to consider how a marriage outside this church will affect you."

Jean cocked an eyebrow.

"How?"

Father Emory sighed and leaned closer.

"Jean, being father of this flock is not just a spiritual calling, it's a paternal one. You are all my sons and daughters. And as your father, I don't think a marriage without this church will be right for you. He can't possibly make you happy." 

* * *

Lucien found Jean sitting on a bench overlooking Lake Wendouree.

"When you said you were stopping by Sacred Heart I thought you might end up here."

Jean sighed.

"This morning I popped by the travel agent. I was thinking about London and Paris, maybe Rome if that suits you."

Jean gasped.

"I'm no world traveler."

"No but my wife will be. I am going to be head of this family, and I insist you see the world. In fact, I insist on giving you everything."

Lucien beamed. Jean lay her head on his shoulder. It was going to be alright.


	35. S4E7 ficlet

In the six weeks since the night she didn't become engaged, her world had shrunk to a single point. Her small bedroom overlooking the garden was her only refuge. Gone were the nights huddled close together in the studio or chatting amicably in the sitting room. She was a ghost in her own home, for however long that home might remain hers. Each day she would do the necessary household work, put on a brave face for her employer, their family and friends, and retreat as soon as possible to her bedroom. She was alone but at least she didn't have to pretend that everything was alright.

So when Lucien knocked on her door and tried to walk in she didn't feel hope but annoyance. This was her one shelter from the debacle he had made and he was invading it. Lucien must have sensed it too because his boyish demeanor cooled, however briefly. Jean answered his questions and sent him off as fast as possible. She had other concerns on her mind. Mei Lin, Alderton, Hannam, and most pressing of all, Lucien. The only thing she knew for sure was that her tenure in the Blake house could not last much longer.

* * *

Jean opened the door to Lucien and suddenly his mind went blank. The murdered firefighter, Mei Lin, all of it faded away. The sight of Jean in nothing but pyjamas, absent even her usual dressing gown, was a balm to his battered heart. For a brief moment he forgot the wall that circumstance had built up between them, that Jean had insisted on. Her unhappy glare brought Lucien back into the present.

Jean once again held the key to solving the case and he was so grateful he could have kissed her. He would have kissed her even if she was no help at all, but he knew she wouldn't let him. He wanted so much just to touch her, to be as close as possible, that it was physically painful to walk away without so much as a brush of her hand. As her bedroom door closed behind him he stood hopelessly in the empty hallway. He knew he was losing her. He knew that she was giving up hope on any future for the two of them. He needed to state his case, to beg her to stay by his side. He vowed to himself that he would tell her how he felt tomorrow.


	36. Kissing writing prompt 1 (Lucien x Jean)

**18\. kisses where one person is sitting in the other's lap**  
 **19\. kisses meant to distract the other person from whatever they were intently doing**  
 **20\. top of head kisses**

* * *

Jean leaned in the doorway, her arms crossed, appraising him. Lucien was hard at work, rotating seamlessly between patient notes and research for the latest murder case. Jean cleared her throat to get his attention. He didn't look up. She called his name.

"Ah Jean. Something I can help you with?"

Jean raised an eyebrow.

"Nice of you to notice. It's getting late. Are you coming to bed?"

"Yes I'll be right there."

Lucien resumed his reading and Jean could see she was getting nowhere. This would not do at all. Jean walked around his desk and set the books aside, sitting in front of him. Papers crinkled lightly underneath her.

"Those are my notes!"

"Yes and I'm your wife and I've barely seen you all week."

Lucien gave her a sympathetic look, running his hands along the sides of her thighs.

"I know. It's just this case. I know I'm missing something. If I could just figure out what it is. I'll be along soon, I promise."

Jean pushed Lucien lightly on his chest, causing him to sit back in his chair. Jean stood up from the desk and settled in in his lap, wrapping her arms around his shoulders for balance. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor.

"I like this. It's much more comfortable than sitting on your desk."

"Now, Jean..."

Jean ignored his protests and started peppering his face with kisses. He tried to reach weakly for a book. She pulled his hand away.

"I miss you, you know. It gets lonely in that big studio without you. I don't like going to bed alone."

"I..."

Jean cut him short with a hard kiss on the lips. Lucien gradually melted into her, his arms reaching around her waist. When Jean finally pulled away he looked into her eyes gratefully.

"Are you sure this can't wait until morning?"

Lucien pulled her tighter and rested his head on her chest, letting out a little moan of frustration.

"I'm so close. I won't be more than a few minutes. You go on ahead."

Jean ran a finger inside his collar, but getting no response she sighed with resignation. She placed her hands against the sides of his face and kissed his forehead.

"Suit yourself. Don't stay up too late."

Jean stood up, briefly leaning on him for balance before leaving the room.

"Goodnight Jean."

Lucien poured himself a drink and resumed his book but his eyes glazed over the words. He tried to write up some patient notes but kept throwing out partially written copies, his train of thought lost. Finally he sat back in his chair, glass in hand, going over the events of a few minutes ago. He idly picked up one of the pieces of paper Jean had sat on and examined it. Suddenly he placed both hands on the desk, eyes wide.

"Lucien Blake you are a bloody fool."

With a grin he downed the last of his whiskey and stood up. With the light on and papers still on the floor, Lucien rushed towards the bedroom.


	37. Kissing writing prompt 2 (RosexCharlie)

**6\. lazy morning kisses before they've even opened their eyes, still mumbling half-incoherently, not wanting to wake up.**

* * *

It was a small bed in a small room and the quarters were cramped at the best of times, but now they were positively claustrophobic. Charlie didn't mind. Rose was tangled up with him in the narrow bed, he could feel her warm and smooth draped over him. He tried to recall the events of the previous night that lead them to this place but they wouldn't come. He wasn't entirely sure he was awake. Whatever was happening, he liked it. He wrapped his arms tighter around Rose and drifted back to sleep.

It didn't last long. The sound of a bird outside sent alarm bells going off in his mind. Rose was here. In his bed. Naked. And it was morning. If Mrs. Beazley found out she'd have both their heads. He tried to shift Rose and wake her up but he was barely awake himself. Rose grunted with discontent. Every time he tried to move her the bed squeaked, sending a stab of fear through his mind.

"Rose? Rose!"

He tried to whisper as loudly as possible.

"Mmm?"

Rose looked in the direction of his voice but her eyes didn't open. She planted a kiss under his chin, then another. Charlie shut his eyes again, trying to fight the growing sensation between his legs. Rose dropped her head back onto his chest and her breathing grew heavy again.

"Rose! Jean will be up any second. I have to get you out of here. You don't have much time."

Rose grunted with distress.

"I'm happy where I am."

Charlie looked down at the red hair splayed in messy waves across his chest.

"I'm happy where you are too."

Rose let out a huff and propped herself up on one elbow. The bed gave another incriminating squeak. Charlie winced.

"Or we could just stay here. Wait it out. Maybe Jean will go into the sun room or leave on errands."

Charlie peered at Rose through barely opened eyes and planted a kiss on her nose. She leaned over and gently kissed Charlie on the lips, and the memories of the night before came flooding back.

"I think I like your idea better."


	38. Kissing writing prompt 3 (RosexCharlie)

**10\. staring at the other's lips, trying not to kiss them, before giving in**

* * *

"I need it now Rose!"

Charlie held out his hand. Rose sneered.

"You can stand there all you want, I'm not revealing my source."

"Three banks robbed in three days, and you are in contact with the only suspect. It's like you're helping him."

"Charlie you know it's not like that. But if he doesn't trust me I don't get a story. No one would speak to me if I worked with the cops."

Rose picked up a stack of papers and carried them into a back room. Charlie followed. Rose opened a drawer and pretended to be preoccupied with its contents. Charlie leaned over and peaked inside.

"Is that it? Your notes on the suspect?"

Rose rolled her eyes.

"No sergeant, they are my notes on the Begonia Festival. See for yourself."

Charlie looked inside the drawer, than rifled through the pages. He sighed in frustration.

"See? I told you."

"Fine then. If you won't help than maybe you are cooperating with the robber. You could be a suspect. I'm detaining you."

Rose stared in disbelief.

"You're taking me down to the station?"

"No, I am going to stand right here. You are not leaving this room until you give me your source."

"So basically, I am kidnapped?"

Charlie nodded.

"And what if I scream for help?"

Charlie placed his hands on the drawer and leaned closer.

"You won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because then your journo mates will think that tough little Miss Anderson can't handle a single angry copper."

Rose stared at him, her cheeks red with anger. She slammed the drawer closed, causing Charlie to stumble forward. Rose caught him, grabbing his arms to halt his progress. Charlie's hat toppled to the floor.

"I hate that you know me so well. But I still won't give you my source."

"Then you're still detained."

"Fine then."

"Fine."

Neither one backed away from the other. Charlie looked down at her. He seemed to be trying to make up his mind what to do next. Rose ran her hand down Charlie's arm and ghosted over the back of his hand. He opened it and grasped her fingers. Rose bit her lower lip. When she spoke her voice was soft.

"So, I think this is the part were you threaten me with a summons and leave."

Charlie bent down so he was inches from Rose's face.

"Actually, I am comfortable right here."

Charlie leaned in for a kiss but Rose pulled away in surprise. She seemed unsure what to do next. Charlie tried to let go of her hand but Rose held fast. Her indecision only lasted a moment before she closed the distance again between them, pressing her lips urgently to his. Charlie sighed into the kiss, wrapping one hand behind her head, drinking in every second with her. The sound of voices approaching from the hall forced then apart. Rose pressed her forehead against Charlie's chest, seemingly trying to hide behind him. For a brief moment Charlie squeezed her shoulders, nuzzling into her bright red hair. Then he reached down and put back on his hat.

He squared his shoulders, addressing Rose in an overly loud voice.

"This isn't over. I'm coming back and I expect you to give me that source!"

"Not likely!"

Rose's smile nearly lit up the small room. Charlie grunted in response, tuned, and stalked out of the office.


	39. Kissing writing prompt 4 (Lucien x Jean)

**9\. one small kiss, pulling away for an instant, then devouring each other**

* * *

"There was a stream in the back of the plot. I used to pick blackberries there when I was a girl."

Jean smiled at the memory but Lucien just furrowed his brow.

"Maybe they were planning on redirecting it?"

Lucien stepped back, his eyes wide with realization.

"Jean, you are a gem!"

Lucien planted a solid kiss on Jean's cheek before stalking off to chase the next clue. He only moved a few steps before turning back around.

"Jean, I'm sorry. That was churlish of me."

"Churlish?"

"I shouldn't be taking liberties like that. I mean you and I have never really talked."

Jean looked down, suddenly flush with embarrassment. She fiddled with the leaves of the plant she was tending on a work bench.

"Well, we don't have to talk about that now. You have a murder to solve."

Lucien took a step back towards her, placing his hand on her arm.

"Yes, well I hope I didn't offend you."

Jean turned to face him, looking annoyed.

"It was just a kiss on the cheek, Lucien. You needn't have bothered if you were concerned."

"Jean, I just meant..."

"Besides I thought we had become rather close friends."

Now it was Lucien's turn to look annoyed.

"Rather close?"

"Yes, well, you know what I mean."

Jean turned back towards her work but Lucien stopped her.

"No, I don't. Tell me."

Jean stammered.

"I just mean I hardly think a kiss on the cheek is immoral for two people who are together."

Jean punctuated the word together with a vague gesture encompassing the whole sun room before continuing.

"I don't really think a peck on the lips would be untoward, considering the situation."

"Oh?"

Lucien smiled and took a step closer. Jean grabbed the back of the work bench in surprise, nearly knocking over a flower pot.

"Show me, Jean."

Jean stared at him in alarm but he did not move. Taking a deep breath, she tilted her head and kissed him softly on the lips. When she looked up his smile was gone, replaced by something desperate. She leaned towards him again but before she could kiss him he surged forward, his mouth covering hers as she wound her hands behind his neck. Jean let out a moan against his mouth as Lucien grabbed her and lifted her onto the work bench before turning his attention to her neck. A long while later they were still there, foreheads pressed against each other, panting. It was Lucien who eventually broke the silence, punctuating his words with kisses.

"Right. I suppose that was a kiss too far?"

Jean laughed quietly, tracing her hand underneath Lucien's collar and over his shoulder.

"I suppose."

Lucien held Jean's face in his hands.

"I won't apologize, it would be lying. But I'll stop."

Jean leaned forward and kissed Lucien again, nipping his lower lip as she pulled away. Lucien groaned.

"I may need some time to think about it."

Lucien wrapped his arms around Jean, his murder case long forgotten.


	40. Four drabbles about love

**Author's note: On tumblr Bugs gave us four love-themed drabble challenges for the month of February, each on a different aspect of love.**

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 **Week 1: Deep and Abiding Love (100)**

"We have _The Beach_ by some bloke named Shutte, or more of _Facts and Figures from Ancient Europe_."

Matthew is slumped back in his hospital bed, already feeling groggy.

"Mmm, Europe. I like to keep sharp for my quiz shows. We can start at the beginning of the last chapter."

Charlie sighs and picks up the heavy volume.

"Whatever you say, boss."

Matthew looks ruefully at his leg, propped up and confined in a scaffold of pins and plaster.

"I'm not your boss anymore, Charlie. You don't have to call me that."

Charlie smiles at him weakly.

"You will be."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 **Week 2: Unresolved Sexual Tension (100)**

For a moment time stopped. Lucien stared at the soft white fabric of her robe, plunging dangerously low and clinging to every curve on Jean's body. He doubted Jean was wearing anything underneath. Jean looked him in the eye before turning the key to the dressing room door. She was blushing. Lucien could barely hear for the blood rushing in his ears.

"Blake? Blake!"

Lucien whirled around with a start.

"Are you going in?"

Bloody Munro. Lucien briefly considered shoving him out the door and locking it behind them. In the end he thought better of it. Perhaps next time.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 **Week 3: Soulmate (no word count)**

It had been this way since time immemorial. The first words your soulmate would say to you when they met you for the first time appeared shortly after birth. Jean's, like most women's, was in an elegant black script on the inside of her right wrist. On men it was usually the left. Many said that this must be a joke from the gods, much to the consternation of the church. The vast majority of soulmate quotes were some variation on "Hello." As a result, no one really knew how many people found their true loves, and many never bothered to look. The church made a fuss from time to time about how the devoted wait, but most people just went about their lives and marriages and the church knew better than to try to impede it.

Jean's was slightly different than the norm. "Do you mind?" was tattooed in neat, tight letters on her wrist. Her family often teased her that given her curious nature she would hear that often in life. It had led to confusion several times as a little girl as she trailed off after strangers in the street convinced she was meeting her one true love only to be pushed back in the direction of her mother. One terrifying day in Year 3 those were the first words spoken to her by an ancient school marm who scowled as Jean rifled through her desk. After that Jean learned to be less eager.

By the time she met Cristopher, Jean had stopped running after every man and woman who uttered that phrase. As dedicated as she was to the church, it was simply not practical. She worried more than once during their marriage if he really was her soulmate but there was no telling for sure. She could not recall what is first words were to her, they had known each other since they were children. Christopher's tattoo simply said "No," so it was entirely possible. Jean never broached the topic with him directly for fear of revealing her occasional doubts.

Many years had passed since Christopher's death and Jean no longer gave a second thought to the words. The script was just another part of her body, like a freckle or an eyelash. She had been living for years with Dr. Blake and had progressed from housekeeper to nurse as his health failed. Jean worried for the future. While she knew in her heart he would never recover she insisted on keeping the house and office up to standard, just in case.

Jean was in his office, sorting through some medical supplies, when she was startled by an unfamiliar voice.

"Do you mind? I may need those."

The man standing before her had a close cropped beard, piecing blue eyes, and an imperious demeanor. Jean was stunned by the arrogance of the stranger who let himself into the house without permission and thought he could boss her around. She would give him a piece of her mind.

Lucien Blake left the encounter somewhat shaken. Standing with his back to the wall outside the kitchen he unbuttoned his left shirt sleeve and glanced at the bold blue text bearing the words, "Who are you?" Lucien wondered, and then quickly put the idea out of his mind. His father was dying, this wasn't the time to find out. Lucien buttoned his sleeve and joined Jean in the kitchen.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 **Week 4: Love you like a brother (300)**

Matthew was silent all through dinner. He was a ghost in the evening, skipping his favorite quiz show in favor of reading in the dining room. He planned to remain withdrawn in the unseen corners of the house. Living with the friend he just fired would not be easy.

Matthew did not feel guilty. He had spent years trying to save Blake from himself. He had tolerated insults and insubordination. He had been accused more than once of favoritism and knew they were right. Matthew loved Blake like a brother and would not cast him aside if he could avoid it. This time Blake's latest reckless antics reached far beyond the walls of the police station and Lawson couldn't contain them. The commissioner gave him no choice.

Being right did nothing to make him feel good about it. Blake was the man who stood by him through childhood bullies, scandal, and injury. Who gave him a place to stay when he had no home. Now it was time to move on.

Matthew's thoughts were interrupted by a glass sliding in front of him. Lucien sat beside him, a matching tumbler in hand. Matthew squinted at Lucien.

"What's this?"

"Whiskey."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"In case you forgot I fired you today."

"And?"

Mathew pushed the drink away, frustrated.

"And I bloody fired you. You can't really want to drink with me. I expect you'd rather see the end of me as your lodger."

Lucien looked taken aback by this.

"Matthew you're family. You belong here."

Lucien lifted his glass to his lips and gave Matthew a quick glance.

"Of course I intend to make you pay for it during tomorrow's therapy session."

Matthew grimaced.

"You're a bastard, you know that?"

Lucien patted Matthew's arm.

"As a matter of fact I do."


	41. Five automobile drabbles (5x100)

**_Note: This is one drabble per season._**

* * *

 **1.**

Lucien stared at Jean in the front seat of the car. Having just spent the night in a cell and humiliating himself at the Consul's reception he must look a mess. Jean was glowering at him, lecturing him about his behavior. He was not contrite. Instead he wanted her to drive away, to Melbourne, the edge of town, anywhere but Ballarat. He wanted her to drive away from his demons and sit near him, and be at peace. He knew it was a ridiculous idea. Jean agreed.

"You embarrassed yourself. You insulted the rest of us."

Lucien hung his head.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

 **2.**

Jean probably should have expected this. Alienated and in mourning, Lucien was lapsing back into his old erratic ways. Fearing he would leave again, Jean followed him around like a mother hen, hoping to guide him in a safer direction. Now they sat in his car on a gloomy day, staring at Lake Wendouree. He had confessed his failures in China and his despair for the future. Lost in thought, she barely noticed his hand gently brushing over hers.

"I have missed you Jean. I am glad to be back."

Jean stifled a gasp.

"Well, we're just glad you're home."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

 **3.**

Lucien drove to the Dempster farm faster than he thought his old car could go. Running into the home with his heart in his throat, he was terrified it was too late to save her. Then, an act of bravery, a stunning confession, and in the end Jean stood alone. When he was finally free of his police duties he found Jean in the front seat, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

He didn't care who saw them. He slid onto the seat next to her and pulled her close. His Jean needed him, and he would keep her safe.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

 **4.**

"I think something simple for you. Nothing fast or ostentatious."

Lucien almost laughed out loud. Somewhere along their hectic car ride the conversation had stopped being about automobiles. Miss Routledge traced her finger along his thigh.

"Or have I misjudged you?"

Lucien could be easily flattered but he was no fool. She was trying to distract him from the case. He lifted her hand and gently placed it on the dashboard.

"Oh no. Something comfortable and reliable will do."

"Are you sure? You wouldn't like a little more excitement?"

Lucien grinned.

"Quite sure. I have a Rolls Royce at home."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

 **5.**

Jean was trembling. She tried to think, about the wedding, what others would think, if Lucien would tear her blouse, but her thoughts kept fading into the same sentence:

"Please God let this never end."

They had driven far out of town to spend some time away from prying eyes. But it turns out prying eyes may have been the only thing keeping them apart. As they reluctantly prepared to leave, Lucien pressed her against the car for a searing kiss. Jean didn't remember tumbling into the back seat.

Underneath her, Lucien moaned. Jean kissed him, muffling both their cries.


	42. Three Drunk Fools (300)

The three men gazed out from the tower. Ballarat twinkled below the night sky.

"See?"

Charlie turned to face the others, a lopsided grin on his face.

"I told you this was the best view in town."

Matthew grunted in agreement.

"How did you get the key? Isn't the fire station locked at night?"

Charlie broke out in a fit of giggles.

"I stole it from Bill."

Lucien laughed. Matthew cursed.

"That's just what I need. Inter-station larceny. You'd better give it back."

"Sure, boss. As soon as I remember where I found it. How did we get you up here?"

Matthew grimaced.

"I can't remember, which may be for the best. I know I'll regret it in the morning."

"I think we all will," Lucien mused.

Charlie leaned back against the railing.

"How do we get him down?"

"Bloody hell." Lucien furrowed his brow.

"Bloody hell." Matthew eyed the trap door to the tower with suspicion.

"Well we can always climb down. I've done it before."

Lucien draped one leg over the railing.

"NO!"

Matthew and Charlie shouted in unison. Charlie grabbed Lucien by the leg and tugged hard, dragging him to the floor.

"You didn't climb down, Doc, you nearly fell to your death."

"Right. I forgot that part."

Matthew puffed up his chest and tightened his grip on his stick.

"I can get down the same way I got up. One step at a time."

Lucien nodded in agreement.

"One step at a time. First drink this. Painkiller."

Matthew took the proffered flask and emptied it.

"Let's go. Charlie you go down first in case I need someone to break my fall."

"Boss?"

Lucien patted Charlie on the arm.

"Do as he says. We'll be right behind you."

Charlie disappeared into the staircase, giggling in the darkness.


	43. Pack Your Bags

Jean did not consider herself nosy, knowing her employer's affairs was part of her job. And when your employer habitually forgot to hand in paperwork, lost files, and squirreled away police evidence, it was naturally part her job to keep an eye out for it. But Jean never expected this. A stack of plane tickets hidden in his desk drawer. They outlined a constellation of stops: Sydney, Darwin, Calcutta, Cairo and eventually, London. It was an extraordinary thing, Jean thought, to travel half way across the globe in four days. But in this moment the wonder of it was lost on Jean. Lucien was leaving again, and there was no return ticket. The itinerary was for a few week's time and he had said nothing.

It wasn't the first time. He had taken off to Shanghai with only a letter to mark his absence. Jean was left for months wondering what her future would hold, wondering if she would ever see him again. But she thought things were different now. Over the last year they had grown close. Lucien had promised her nothing, but there were moments - in the sunroom, the kitchen, that dreadful night of her birthday - that he wrapped his arms around her and Jean looked into his eyes and she believed. She believed they had an understanding that one day, when they were both bold enough and ready, perhaps their brief forays into affection would be less fleeting. She thought they might face the future together.

Jean now knew she was wrong. She was just his housekeeper. Lucien was a free man, and Jean should be grateful he kept her on as long as he did. If Lucien wanted to run off across the globe that was his business. Still Jean could not help but feel betrayed. She thought they were good friends, but this was yet another secret he kept from her. For several days she held her peace, in fact she barely spoke to him at all. Lucien noticed right away. He made several quiet overtures to regain her company but he never asked what's wrong. This only upset Jean more. With each meal, each cup of tea poured, each drink offered, Jean grew more irate. How could he expect her to wait on him each night while he kept her in the dark?

Finally late one night Jean brought him his whisky as usual. It was a facade, really, Jean knew he had a bottle on hand. Lucien accepted the drink with a curt thanks and resumed his reading. Jean stood and stared at him in defiance. Lucien looked up again warily.

"Jean, everything alright?"

Jean forced an icy smile.

"Fine. I just wondered if there was anything you wanted to tell me?"

For a moment Lucien's mouth hung open but he quickly recovered.

"Not that I can think of. Have a good night."

Jean would not be dismissed that easily.

"Are you sure? Any travel plans?"

Lucien let out a heavy sigh, placing both hands in front of him on his desk. He would not make eye contact. It was true then.

"You know."

"Yes, I saw the tickets while tidying up."

Jean knew she was on unsteady ground given where she had found them, but she was too outraged to care.

"I had meant to tell you weeks ago, but I just couldn't find the right moment."

Jean raised an eyebrow.

"Weeks? All this time you were planning to run away to London and you never thought to mention it? You don't even have a return trip."

"I thought I'd arrange about that later. And France is the final destination. I thought perhaps Paris. There's no need to book the ferry in advance which is why you don't see the ticket. Though I thought we might spend some time in London on the return trip."

Jean resisted the urge to scream. He could not believe he thought the details of his travels were important to her now. Jean took a deep breath and tried to control her voice.

"Well I hope that you have a lovely time."

Jean squared her shoulders and turned around to leave but Lucien jumped out from behind her desk and caught her hand.

"Jean, I think you misunderstand me."

"It seems pretty clear to me."

Lucien placed a hand on her shoulder, urging her to stay in place.

"Just wait."

Lucien leaned over his desk and reached into the drawer. He pulled out the travel packet and placed it in Jean's hands. Jean thumbed through it, but noticed something she missed during her earlier furtive examination. Each destination had two tickets. Jean gasped. Lucien grasped Jean's hands in his, looking her in the eye for the first time all evening.

"Like I said, Jean, I wanted to tell you but I just didn't know how. I am glad you found them or I might have given up entirely."

Jean stared at him, still unsure of what he wanted and afraid to ask.

"What do you say Jean. Run away with me?"

Jean swallowed hard.

"I'll pack my bag."


	44. A Horse is a Horse

The smell caught Jean's attention first. Then the shrieking noise which Jean belatedly realized was her own. A large black horse was tethered to the clothesline, chewing placidly on the petunias that she had just planted along the border of the her garden. Jean's heart stopped as the horsed nosed her gold tooth aloe but thankfully thought better of it. Jean did not need to guess who was responsible for what she was seeing.

"Lucien!"

"Ah, Jean. You're home early."

Lucien seemed to step out of nowhere and Jean suspected that he was hiding behind the animal the whole time.

"What is that?"

"Oh that?"

Lucien turned as if he were only noticing the horse for the first time.

"That's Bob."

"Sid's horse?"

"Yes."

"Why isn't he at the farm?"

"Ah well," Lucien draped on arm over Bob's rump. Bob pulled up another petunia as he continued, "unfortunately they can't take him after all. The owner of Sid's stable wants him out, so I thought he could stay with us until I find him a new home."

"Lucien what were you thinking? We can't possibly care for him here!"

"We have a garden. I could get some hay. And I could ride him around the neighborhood from time to time. Could be fun. Ever ride a horse?"

Lucien gave Jean his most winning smile, which melted under the intensity of Jean's scowl.

"I lived on a farm most of my life Lucien of course I know how to ride a horse. I also know what to do with unwanted livestock. Would you like me to explain?"

"But Jean..."

Having run out of flowers nearby, Bob tried to move to the other side of the garden, nearly uprooting the clothesline. Jean rushed over and grabbed the reins to keep him still, using nearly all her strength to keep him under control. Jean glared at Lucien.

"The middle of town is no place for a farm animal. Either you get rid of him or I will."

Lucien threw his hands up in resignation. He gave Bob a remorseful look. Bob ignored Lucien and instead turned his attention to the grass.

"Fine, fine. I'll ah, I'll just go make some phone calls."

Lucien all but ran into the house. Jean sighed and untangled Bob's reigns from the clothes line. He followed her to a shady spot on the side of the house away from her plants and tethered him to the fence. Jean stood up on her toes and scratched his withers.

"I'll tell you what, how about I go into the kitchen and find you some carrots?"

Bob snorted against her ear and Jean smiled.

"Carrots it is."


	45. Friends to Lovers

The scene looked oddly familiar. A park downtown, a picnic basket, and a blanket spread out beneath a shady tree. Jean looked around suspiciously.

"I didn't know you were working on a case."

Lucien laughed.

"I'm not. I just thought it wasn't very fair last time. I brought you all that way, tucker and all, just for work. I thought the least I could do is give you a real picnic."

Jean eyed him with caution. Lucien gestured towards the blanket.

"Please?"

"It is a rather nice day for it."

Jean relented, casting aside her coat as she settled on the ground. Lucien sat down next to her with a groan. Jean opened the basket for a perfunctory inspection.

"This all looks rather nice. Did you make it yourself?"

Lucien beamed.

"Why yes, I did!"

Jean raised an eyebrow at him and his chest deflated.

"All right, I bribed Mattie. I have to drive her to shifts for the next week."

Jean laughed and reached in for a sandwich.

"You don't need to impress me you know."

"Can I help it if I want to? Besides I wanted to thank you."

"For what?"

"For everything. For looking after me. For being my friend."

Jean blushed.

"It's my pleasure."

Lucien grinned.

"My sweet Jean."

For a moment Jean looked startled. Lucien paused half way through unwrapping his lunch.

"Everything alright?"

"Yes, it's just that you've called me that before."

Lucien loosened his tie.

"Have I?"

"Yes. Just after you moved in. Mind you were very drunk at the time."

Lucien seemed to lose some of his composure, staring intently at the ground. Jean put her hand on his.

"Lucien, I didn't mean…"

"No Jean, it's alright. It's just, maybe I should have called you that more often. Maybe I should say it every day. Maybe I should have told you how beautiful you look, sitting on a picnic blanket in the sunlight."

Jean looked into his eyes. He seemed to be pleading with her, trying to find a way to ask for something but he couldn't find the words. Jean scooted up next to him and leaned in close, flinging her arms around his neck. Lucien dropped his sandwich in alarm. He nearly fell over, wrapping his arms around her for balance.

"Jean?"

"Last time I checked it was easy to hide in this park. Hardly anyone notices what's going on."

Lucien seemed to have trouble catching his breath.

"Why? Is someone watching us in the bushes again?"

Jean shook her head.

"No one at all."

"Good. My sweet Jean," Lucien muttered, pulling her against him.

His sandwich lie in the dirt under the tree, forgotten. By the time Lucien reluctantly led them home, clothes rumpled and carrying another unfinished picnic, it was well past dinner time anyhow.


	46. In the Dead of Winter (300)

"Would sir care for another drink?"

Lucien peered around the empty bar of the Colonists Club.

"Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you, Cec."

"I'd best replace that ash tray too."

With his usual efficiency Cec seemed to produce a filled beverage and a clean ash tray out of thin air. He paused to wipe down the counter in front of Lucien as the doctor knocked back his drink. Cec refilled it.

"If you don't mind me saying so, we've been seeing a lot of you lately. And much later than usual."

Lucien leaned over the bar, spilling his drink on the newly cleaned surface.

"It's freezing cold out there. It might snow."

"Snow, sir? In Ballarat? I hardly seems likely."

"It's been known to happen. Best stay put."

Lucien held out his glass again. Cec hesitated.

"And how is Mrs. Blake finding Ballarat? Is she handling the chill?"

Lucien searched his jacket fruitlessly for a cigarette. Cec produced one from behind the bar, lit it, and carefully handed it to Lucien.

"She manages as best as can be expected. She hates staying in that hotel though."

"And Mrs. Beazley? What does she think of all this?"

Lucien put his half-finished cigarette out directly on the bar and snarled at Cec.

"I haven't asked."

Cec didn't flinch.

"Right you are sir. Forgive me. After all, one doesn't involve one's housekeeper in one's marital business."

Lucien slumped over in defeat.

"Oh, Cec. You know she's more than my housekeeper. Perhaps it's time I go home and put things right."

"If you don't mind me saying so sir, you're in no fit condition to drive. Perhaps you should take the upstairs room tonight. After all, it's freezing out there."

"Yes," Lucien regarded his empty glass, "and they say it might snow."


	47. Friends to Lovers (5x50)

1.

Jean quietly perused the Courier. She was happy to share her knowledge of Ballarat with Lucien. True to form, he was so self-absorbed that he didn't notice Jean reading the classifieds. Jean silently wished him luck solving the case. She didn't plan to be around for the next one.

2.

It was an oddly familiar feeling. Jean was teaching Mattie to knit, he could tell it was going badly. Drink in hand, Lucien settled down into a chair. Lucien cracked a joke and exchanged knowing looks with Jean. Mattie giggled. Lucien hadn't realized how much he missed having a family.

3.

Lucien's voice echoed throughout the house and Jean breathed a sigh of relief. It didn't matter that she was trapped by a knife wielding maniac. She was safe. Later, Jean would tearfully confess all about her past, her conflicted emotions. She hoped Lucien would realize how much she loved him.

4.

Jean kissed Lucien's head before rushing off. They were so hesitant, both afraid of moving too fast but unwilling to discuss it. Lucien wondered what would happen if they just threw caution to the wind. Lucien regarded the ring box in his hand. There was only one way to know.

5.

The stucco wall in the sun room is uncomfortable against Lucien's back but he doesn't care.

"Lucien, we can't."

"I'll be a good boy, I promise."

He slides his hand under Jean's shirt and over the skin of her back. Jean arches into him.

"That's what you said last time."


End file.
